


Carry Me Home

by mydearestlove



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings Apply, Alpha Lexa, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexuality, But it's okay because they're soulmates, Canon Lesbian Character, Cheating, Clarke learns her self worth, Comfort/Angst, Commander Lexa, Depression, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fiery lexa, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, I'm So Excited About This, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealous Lexa, Lesbian Character, Lexa is so Lexa in this one, Lexa teaches her, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Protective Lexa, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sad Clarke, Sister-Sister Relationship, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, True Love, and also other reasons, lexa and clarke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearestlove/pseuds/mydearestlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lexa?” Clarke ventured. Lexa turned her head. “Would you...like to meet up again?”</p><p>Lexa’s face cracked into a wild grin,.</p><p>“You bet your sweet ass.”</p><p>“How do you know I have a sweet ass?”</p><p>“I looked.”</p><p>Clarke could feel herself tumbling down the rabbit hole, and she had absolutely no inclination to stop it.</p><p>OR</p><p>Clarke is caught in the eye of a tornado. Her life is racing towards a place she could never come back from. She can't seem to imagine anything but this, this terrible static pain, every day for the rest of her life, but when Lexa comes along, everything is new. Balancing on a dangerous precipice, Lexa is the one thing that can bring her back, that can make her whole again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> I cried when I plotted this story. Lexa is true to form in this, as close as I could get to her. I wanted to truly honor her essence and the essence of this powerful relationship. Thank you for giving it a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: abuse - physical/emotional

_ How did she end up here?  _

 

Clarke nudged the shards of broken glass with her big toe. She flicked her ankle and sent a large piece skittering across the room. Aside from the steady squeaking of the rotating ceiling fan overhead, it was the only sound. 

 

_ Sa-squeak, sa-squeak, sa-squeak.  _

 

Everything was still, the noise from the fan like a metronome, a second hand on a clock, counting the seconds, reminding her that every moment she was alive, and she was here, on this floor, feeling this empty, and being this scared. 

 

She held her hands out in front of her face, expecting them to tremble or shake, but they didn’t. She inhaled deeply, and it was strong, not feeble or shaky. Her heart felt like it was collapsing, but she had always been tough. She had always been brave. 

 

Clarke stood, sliding her back up the wall just as she had done when Finn threw the vase at her, and she had dodged it, sliding down to the floor. 

 

_ “Clarke, I love you! I love you, and nobody else, nobody in this world, is going to love you like I do! Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you just open your fucking eyes?” He ran a hand angrily through his long, dark hair, then suddenly turned and slammed his open palm against the wall with a loud  _ thwack, _ making Clarke jump.  _

 

_ “I know that you love me, Finn. I know that.” Clarke said, her voice remaining calm and composed.  _

 

_ “Oh, you know.” He laughs harshly and rolls his eyes. “You know, huh?” _

 

_ “Yes I-” _

 

_ “But you don’t love me, do you, Clarke?” He turned, and his eyes were wild. Like there was a wire that short circuited just behind his eyes. Flickering. _

 

_ “I do love you.” She said quietly. _

 

_ “Then why the  _ fuck  _ do you do this to me?!” He grabbed Clarke by the shoulders and shook her roughly, leaning down into her face. She rocked back instinctively, and he shook her again, harder. “Don’t move away from me! I asked you a question!”  _

 

_ “Finn, could you please -” She struggled to sound as unphased as she did. It terrified her when he got this way, as if something important inside of him had come loose, something that was crucial to his genetic makeup, his DNA, his heart, the part of him that made him Finn.  _

_ “I asked you a question, dammit!” He raised his voice to a yell and shoved Clarke away from him, where her spine crashed roughly into the wall behind her. He advanced on her, and she leapt swiftly to the side, away. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her back, then with his other hand grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks together with his tight grip.  _

 

_ She was breathing hard, her blood pumping and her heart racing. She was scared now. She wanted to leave, to run, to get the fuck away from this him that wasn’t him at all.  _

 

_ “I love you, Clarke. I support you, I shelter you, I provide for you, I treat you  _ right,  _ and I  _ love  _ you. So why-” His voice was low, and held a dark undercurrent. “-do you do this to me?”  _

 

_ “Please," she whispered, but his eyes flashed and he gripped her tighter. They stared at each other, both of them wide eyed, her in fear and he in anger. "Let go of me and I will answer you.” Her stomach flipped. She was acting brave, but she was scared. So scared.  _

 

_ “You don’t tell me what to do, is that clear? You don't get to make a bargain now. Liars don't get to do that. Cheaters don't get to do that. Whores don't get to do that. Is that clear enough for you to understand, princess?” He growled, shaking her again.  _

 

_ "I didn't cheat, I didn't lie, and I didn't fuck her, I didn't fuck ANYONE, you're just inventing every excuse you can find to control me, to keep me here with you, under your fucking thumb. You think you own me, Finn? You think this makes you a man?" She spit, all of her fear manifesting as anger and indignation, when truly she felt so low, so down and so hopeless, that she felt like she could let go completely. She could let herself fall, and it wouldn't matter because she was already at the bottom anyway. She deserved this. She deserved this for thinking that things could be better, that she deserved a life where things were better. _

 

_ He raised his hand as if to strike her and she yanked her chin and her arm out of his grasp and bolted quickly out the bedroom door, her breathing so loud she could barely hear anything else as she ran frantically down the stairs, slipping and fumbling more than once in her panic. On the second to last step, she felt a grip on her forearm, and she turned and shoved him away with her palm to his face. She stumbled off the last step and was racing for the front door, barefoot, in a pair of panties and a t-shirt of his, when she felt something whistle past her head, followed swiftly by a string of curses hurled at her by the man she loved, the one who terrified her to death sometimes.  _

 

_ Instinctively, she ducked and jumped to the side, only split seconds before her mother’s antique vase crashed against the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. Clarke froze, choking on her breath, and slid defensively to the floor with her hands over her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She repeated it over and over again, feeling herself deflate, feeling her heart sink, feeling her very core, her very soul, drain of energy, of fight. She gave up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn’t look up.  _

 

_ "You should be," was all she got back. She heard keys jangling, and heavy footsteps. She heard a heavy sigh, then saw Finn’s legs as he passed beside her and out the front door, slamming it behind him, leaving her alone. _

 

_ Alone on the floor, alone to clean up the mess.  _

 

Clarke stood and tucked her hair behind her ears, allowing herself a few silent tears as she stepped gingerly over the broken glass and retrieved the dust pan from the kitchen. She swept up the mess, then found she did not have the energy to walk back to the kitchen and throw it away. She did not feel like doing anything. She sank to the floor again, fingering a piece of what was once a precious family heirloom, one that had been passed down for generations, and finally cried. 

 

_ How did she end up here?  _

 

She felt trapped, like this whole apartment had betrayed her, like everything was something else entirely, something foreign and malicious. She felt a familiar weight pressing on her chest, like she couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe anymore. 

 

There was a faint purple ring around her wrist.

 

She wiped her cheeks roughly and reached up, feeling around blindly on the end table for the phone, not getting up. 

 

Her fingers grasped it, and she dialed those all too welcoming numbers, the clicking of the buttons joining the squeaking of the fan as the only noises in the rotten apartment. 

 

It rang twice, and then the relief came.

 

“Hello? Is everything okay?” Her voice was concerned, and it made fresh tears well up in Clarke’s blue eyes. That voice was like honey, like smooth salve on a wound, easing her pain.

  
She sniffled and coughed, then replied, her voice gravelly from crying, “Lexa? Can you come get me?"


	2. 23 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for the feedback I've gotten already! I'm very excited to continue with this story.

His large, rough hand was warm in hers as they crossed the street together, Clarke’s black pumps click-clacking satisfactorily on the asphalt. His stride was long and purposeful, and Clarke, having short legs and wearing heels, had to nearly jog, taking quick little steps to keep up with him.

“Have you been to this place before?” She asked, craning her neck to look up at the restaurant’s sign. Nearly the whole building was glass, giant windows glinting under the bright lights. She could see in and it reminded her of the restaurant in Pretty Woman, something much too fancy for her. A little knot settled in her stomach as she watched a slim, leggy brunette woman slink inside, looking jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Suddenly the blue dress she had been so proud of and felt so confident in 20 minutes ago seemed like something a child would play dress-up in, something laughable.

“No, babe, but I told you - everybody says it’s the best.”

“You made reservations, right?” She asked, anxious, looking around at the city around her like she had never seen it before. She felt like a Bratz doll inside a Barbie Dreamhouse - all too big and ridiculously out of place.

Finn rolled his eyes, “No, Clarke, I’m completely stupid and I thought we’d just walk in.”

She inhaled deeply and replied, “Okay, I’m sorry,” on the tails of her exhalation. “You know how I am.”

He turned his head toward her and gave her a small smile, “Perfect?”

She blushed and smiled with the corner of her mouth, then looked away.

“I thought so,” He said, leaning over quickly to kiss the side of her head as they walked.

He marched confidently up to the host when they stepped inside, announcing, “Reservations for Collins.”

The host glanced down momentarily at his laptop, then extended a hand and politely replied, “Follow me, please.”

Clarke and Finn were seated at a cozy little table against a dividing wall. The wall was gorgeous, dark wood, as was the table, Clarke discovered when she lifted the pristine white cloth. Over their heads hung a beautiful chandelier that gave off a small bit of warm, mood lighting. A slim crystal glass containing a single red rose sat in the middle of the table.

Clarke anxiously smoothed her dress, amazed by the soft glamour of the place. She couldn’t even imagine how much it must have cost Finn to book this for them.

Across from them, a longer table full of women, including the gorgeous brunette Clarke had noticed walking in, sat giggling and talking quietly over their menus. They were all very striking; next to her sat a dignified older woman with high cheekbones and a gorgeous dark skintone; another, a tall, angular faced blonde woman with intense eyes; finally, a short, pale girl with a solid, square chin with long, dark hair. Despite their abundant good looks, Clarke’s eye was drawn only to the woman she had seen outside the restaurant. There was something about her, an air of mystery or spontaneity, that piqued Clarke’s interest.

Finn glanced up and caught her looking over at the other table. He cleared his throat loudly, startling Clarke out of her reverie.

“Are you going to look at the menu or not?” He asked gruffly, eyeing her suspiciously,

“Oh!” Clarke jumped and quickly turned to her menu, avoiding Finn’s eyes.

As she scanned the menu, their waitress glided over to ask what they’d be having to drink.

“Water,” Finn replied. The waitress nodded, then looked over at Clarke.

“Iced tea, please,” she said, but could feel Finn’s eyes boring into her. She cleared her throat awkwardly, then corrected herself, “Actually, could you make that a water? I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” The waitress replied. “Are you guys ready to order or do you need a minute to look?”

Clarke looked to Finn for an answer.

“We should be ready,” he said, holding out his menu and pointing with his finger, “I’ll have the roast of lamb with a balsamic reduction, please.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling on a little pad, “Excellent choice.”

“And I’ll have the chicken marengo with-”

“Are you sure you can eat all that?” Finn interrupted.

“Well, of course I-”

“No, I mean, haven’t you already had your cheat meal this week?” He pursed his lips slightly. The waitress looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Well yes, but-”

He shot her a look and stepped on her foot under the table.

Clarke blushed bright red as she replied, “Actually, I’ll just have a salad please.”

“Alright, which one? We have-” The waitress, Maya began.

“The smallest one you have. Like an appetizer salad.”

“Are you sure?” She asked with a sympathetic look.

“I’m sure.”

“What dressing?”

“Lite italian, please.”

Maya nodded, taking their menus and pouring them both a glass of water, “We’ll get started on it, I hope you guys enjoy.”

Clarke avoided Finn’s eyes after Maya left.

“So, uh. This place is really nice,” She said awkwardly.

There were a few heavy beats of silence before Finn remarked, “You know, I wasn’t trying to be mean, Clarke. I’m just trying to help you.”

“I know,” she murmured quietly.

“You’ll never get the figure you want if you don’t discipline yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his lap.

“I know,” she replied again.

“And besides, just the reservations for this place were high. I can’t really afford an overly expensive meal, too.”

Clarke declined to remark that the meal she had wanted was only half the price of what Finn had ordered. Instead she just said, “I know.”

“Is that all you can say or something?” He demanded harshly.

Clarke shrugged.

“Don’t just sit over there and pout, Clarke. I paid a lot of money to take you here tonight, okay? You’re acting like a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She was mortified. She had already felt out of place from the start, now to have Finn reprimanding her in the middle of a ritzy restaurant while those gorgeous women looked on and witnessed the whole thing was almost too much.

She could feel a familiar weight pressing on her chest as she felt strangers eyes on her, and she silently reminded herself to breathe, deeply and evenly. In and out, in and out.

Finn noticed her deliberate breathing, and his expression changed to one of remorse.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you anxious.”

Clarke nodded, closing her eyes.

“Clarke, honey, are you okay? Is it bad?” He leaned forward, pressing his hand over hers.

She took four more deep breaths, in and out, then slowly opened her eyes. Her stomach was still uneasy and she still felt a heaviness on her sternum, but she quietly said, “I’m fine, it’s alright.”

They waited in near silence for several minutes until Maya returned with their meals. Finn ate his hungrily, but Clarke picked at her salad. She’d stab a piece of lettuce, examine it, then scrape it on the side of the bowl and stab another one.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Finn asked.

“I am eating,”  She said, stabbing a piece of lettuce.

“You’ve had your food for ten minutes and you’ve taken one bite of that salad.”

She stuck the piece of lettuce in her mouth and looked at him expectantly.

“Thank you,” He said curtly, and they resumed their uncomfortable silence, the one that always occurred after Finn got angry with Clarke.

Clarke looked down at her bowl, mostly, sometimes stealing glances over at the table beside her. She was beyond embarrassed that the women were so near, and she prayed to a God that didn’t exist that they hadn’t heard she and Finn’s little exchange. She knew she had been wrong, but it was still embarrassing.

When Clarke looked over toward the table, the brunette was staring at her. Not just happened-to-be-looking-this-way stare, but an honest, purposeful stare. Clarke quickly looked away, confused and chagrined.

“You seriously haven’t noticed her staring at you all night?”

Clarke jerked her head up in surprise at Finn’s voice.

“I’m sorry?”

“That girl. In the red dress. She’s been staring over here at you all night and you just now noticed.”

Clarke cleared her throat, “All I’m focused on is you.”

Finn’s face split into a grin as he remarked, “Good. Good.”

It was time for their check, and Maya brought them their ticket. Finn whistled when he opened the little booklet, his eyebrows raised. “Wow. Nearly fifty bucks for two people and an appetizer.”

“And I only got a salad,” Clarke added.

“Yeah, a twelve dollar salad.”

Clarke hushed.

Finn laid two dollars on the table after reluctantly signing the bill.

“That’s all you’re tipping?” Clarke asked incredulously.

“Yeah?”

“20% would be at least ten dollars.”

“And?”

Clarke looked shocked. “So you have to tip her more than two dollars.”

Finn raised his eyebrows at Clarke, his lips curled into a slightly condescending smile, “Listen, princess, I don’t  _ have  _ to do anything. I already paid fifty bucks to this place for the food alone, not to mention the reservations, I don’t have the money to tip some teenager who works a minimum wage job. That’s not my problem.”

“That’s heartless.” Clarke jumped. The voice had not come from either of them, but from the brunette woman at the table next to them. Clarke whirled around in shock, and Finn’s mouth dropped open.

“Excuse me?”

The woman stood. “You heard me. I said, that’s heartless. You can’t even afford to tip her more than two bucks? She works hard and she cares about her job, she even dealt with you being an ass to your girlfriend over there all night, which I won’t even go into.” At this, she waved a hand and rolled her eyes in an appalled manner. “ And you can’t even afford, like, eight more bucks? Pathetic, man.”

Color was slowly seeping up Finn’s neck. Not a good sign for Clarke at all. Her stomach was rolling, tying itself into knots. She froze, scared for how Finn would respond.

“How about you mind your own fucking business?” He replied loudly, stepping toward the table. A waiter nearby registered the commotion and froze.

“I made it my business, thanks,” the woman said.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to be criticized by some overdressed -” Finn started in, but the woman held up a hand and strutted purposefully over to Finn and Clarke’s now empty table. She slapped a twenty down over the two bills Finn had placed, then marched over to where the two stood.

The woman was nearly as tall as Finn hen she stepped right up in his face, her nose inches from his.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The waiter asked, stepping over towards the scene to place a hand on her elbow.

She gently pulled her arm away, growling at Finn, “Have a nice night, and kindly, go fuck yourself,”

Clarke felt something pressed into her sweaty palm, and she reflexively clenched her fist closed, trapping it inside.

“Likewise,” Finn retorted menacingly, staring down into the woman’s fiery green eyes with equal intensity, before grabbing Clarke by the arm roughly, pulling her out the door and marching her across the street.

She could almost feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. She silently braced herself for a rough night. Her stomach was churning at the thought of going home to their tiny apartment and their tiny little bed, both of which would be filled  to bursting tonight with his rage.

“Get in the car,” he commanded, and Clarke reluctantly but quickly obeyed, still clutching the mystery item in her sticky fist.

She yearned to open it and look, but didn’t dare. As Finn was reversing, she caught a glimpse of the woman being escorted out of the building with her hands raised in an apologetic gesture. Clarke’s heart was beating wildly with the rush of it all, and she didn’t even know how to process or what to think about what had occurred.

She sat tensely, silent, the whole ride home. When they pulled in the lot, Finn got out quickly, slamming his door. Clarke took her opportunity and opened her fist excitedly.

There was a little piece of napkin squashed up in her hand. She hurriedly unfolded it, her heart pounding, praying Finn wouldn’t circle back and ask her what was taking so long.

_ Here if you need it. Lexa P - 555 - 3764 _

It was signed at the bottom with a small, lopsided heart.


	3. 20 Days Before

Clarke’s blonde hair spilled across the pillow like a field of sunflowers, her breathing steady and deep, one pale leg sticking out from under the quilt. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, Finn was working the 3-11 shift this week, and this was his first night; she’d wanted to be up when he returned home. 

The last three days had been exhausting for Clarke. She felt as if every moment were a struggle, fighting against herself, against Finn, and against the world just to make it through a day. Sleep was the one place she could find rest. Sleep was the one thing that could give her peace, even if temporary, even if fleeting. Clarke had never been someone who gave up easily, she had never been negative, she had never been easily discouraged. Growing up she was always either commended or reprimanded for her intensely stubborn nature. Now, however, she was almost scared by how apathetic she had become.

There would be chunks of time that Clarke would almost completely lose; she’d curl up inside herself and someone else, some stronger, tougher, meaner Clarke would take over. That Clarke did not care. That Clarke was untouchable. But it was as if every time she took over, every time the real Clarke ran and hid, a little piece of her heart was lost. She constantly felt as if she was in a losing battle with herself and everyone around her. Like she was two different people at the same time, like she had been asleep forever and had only just now awoken, or like she had been awake her whole life and somehow fallen asleep to a nightmare she was trapped in.

She was exhausted.

She had tried to stay awake, but failed miserably.

Finn opened the door slowly, peeking in to find a peaceful Clarke asleep in their bed. He smiled to himself and began quickly and quietly removing his work clothes. He placed his heavy boots and his hat and his belt in the corner, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and pulled on a soft pair of pants and Clarke’s favorite t-shirt of his which he had gotten from a Guns’n’Roses concert a few years back. He crept over to the bed and admired her for a moment.

She looked so beautiful in her sleep.

He grabbed her gently by the shoulder and shook her awake.

“Clarke,” he whispered, bending down close to her ear.

Her eyes fluttered and she rolled over, grunting sleepily, “What?”

“Wake up, baby, I have a surprise for you.”

Clarke rubbed her eyes with her fist and sat up groggily, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Mm, a surprise? All for me?” Even half-asleep she was adorable.

Grinning, Finn produced a sketchpad and a pack of drawing pencils from behind his back.

“I know you’ve almost filled up the one you have and you said you could only get this kind at a certain store, which is all the way across town. I stopped by and got it for you before work. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for how I’ve acted recently, and that I hope this will show you that I mean it. Can you forgive me?” He looked at her apologetically, holding out the book.

She tucked her messy hair behind her ears and reached out to take the gift, a small smile on her soft pink lips.

“You didn’t have to do that, Finn. That was very, very sweet of you. I know things have been stressful for you lately and that sometimes you just can’t help it; of course I forgive you.” She smiled sleepily and leaned her head against Finn’s shoulder, setting the book and pencils aside.

“I promise it’ll never happen again,’ he whispered against her hair, gently rubbing her back as he leaned her back in the bed, laying them both down.

“I love you,” she whispered, sighing as Finn wrapped his arms around her settling into the space beside her.

“I love you better,” he murmured back, gently running his finger over the bruise on Clarke’s jaw.

And despite everything, she really believed him. 


	4. 19 Days Before

The wind was bitterly cold. Each gust slithered inside Clarke’s worn leather jacket and bit at her skin no matter how tightly she pulled it around her. She was grateful for the cold weather, however, as it made it incredibly easy to cover the purpling bruise on her jaw - a little bit of makeup and a big fluffy scarf. Problem solved. She had gone to see her mother today, chalking up her recent emptiness to simply being homesick. She thought that maybe spending a day in a familiar place would fill her heart a little bit.

She’d taken great care not to let Abby stand or sit to her left side. Once inside, she’d been forced to remove her scarf, and Clarke hardly ever wore makeup - it would have been a dead giveaway to Abby. They’d spent the day together, watching Grey’s Anatomy reruns and playing trivia and eating ice cream straight out of the carton. Finn didn’t have to know about that last part.

It was fun, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t fill her up like she’d thought it would. The house still felt empty without her father, and yet it was still so full of the love he and her mother had shared. She saw it on every wall where their pictures hung, in the recliner where he would always nap, in the left side of the closet where her mother still hung his clothes. She saw it in her mother’s eyes, she felt it in the very foundation of the house. Every moment in that house brought her closer to him but it also reminded her of her failure.

Clarke knew that she and Finn didn’t have a love like Abby and Jake. Not even a little bit, not even close.

Every time Clarke shifted to keep her mother from noticing her bruised jawline, she could almost feel her father looking at her with those disappointed eyes. She could see the shake of his head, the way he’d press his lips together into a thin line. She could feel his hand on her shoulder, could hear him start off with “Kiddo…”

So as she walked back home to her apartment, she felt emptier than when she’d arrived.

Clarke kept her head bowed against the gusting wind, counting her steps and watching her breath puff in front of her face.

_ One hundred and twelve, one hundred and thirteen, one hundred and fourteen - _

_ Beeeeeeeep! _

Clarke jumped, her heart scrambling up into her throat at the sound of the car horn blaring behind her. She whirled around, her hands on her hips, ready to rip somebody a new one, but stopped short.

A tiny little Prius was idling behind her on the curb, and behind the wheel was a slim, brunette woman with striking green eyes.

“Need a ride?” The woman hollered, smirking mischievously.

Clarke rolled her eyes and shifted on her feet. This could not be happening.

“I know you,” Clarke called back, pulling her purple beanie down lower on her head.

The woman, Lexa, nodded, smiling a toothy white grin.

“I cussed your boyfriend out at a restaurant last week. Kinda hard to forget.”  

Clarke huffed air out sharply through her nose and crossed her arms.

She didn’t want to admit to herself that she had stashed the wadded up napkin in her panty drawer, and that she looked at it more than once every day, trying to get up the nerve to text her number.

“I also gave you my number, if I remember correctly,” said Lexa, tilting her head to one side.

“You did,” Clarke agreed, trying to keep her eyes from hungrily roaming over the other girl’s figure.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So why didn’t you call?”

“You said it was there if I needed it. I didn’t need it,” Clarke replied with feigned nonchalance, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“I beg to differ,” Lexa mumbled, ducking her head to look at Clarke more pointedly through the rolled-down passenger window.

“Listen, I don’t need this today,” Clarke scoffed, turning and continuing to trudge home.

Lexa puttered along beside her, persistent.

“Look, I’m sorry! I just want to talk to you!” She called out loudly.

Clarke kept her eyes forward but she was dying to turn her head.

“Can you at least tell me your name?” Lexa whined, keeping pace beside Clarke. They were approaching an intersection. Thankfully no traffic had appeared from behind them.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Clarke stopped and turned to face the car.

“It’s Clarke.”

“Clarke what?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa’s face split into a grin.

“Clarke Griffin, if you don’t get in my car, you’ll be wasting an opportunity given to us by the universe herself.”

Clarke laughed. “I didn’t know the universe was a woman,”

“Did you really think a man could be so beautiful? Or so brilliant?”

Clarke smirked, but said nothing.

“Oh, come on! There’s a truck pulling up behind me and I think you’re really gorgeous and I really don’t think it’s a coincidence that I happened to see you on the street today. At least humor me?”

Clarke turned, looking around her reflexively for anyone who might know her. She didn’t want this getting back to Finn.

Making her decision, Clarke crossed the sidewalk quickly and opened the passenger side door, sliding into the car.

It smelled like laundry detergent, like when Clarke was a kid and Raven’s mom would wash her clothes at sleepovers.

Lexa stepped on the gas, blowing past the intersection.

“I needed to turn there.” Clarke protested.

“No, you didn’t.” Lexa grinned. She was wearing a pair of tight black skinny jeans and a white hoodie with the words “REUNITE PANGEA” emblazoned on it. Her hair was long and wavy around her shoulders, and Clarke had to resist the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it, to bring a strand to her nose and inhale deeply. It looked soft, like it would be nice to cry into, and like it would smell like apples.

“There’s a bookstore up here that sells the best cookies ever in a little cafe in the back. I’m taking you there. You’re lucky. I never show  _ anyone  _ my secret cookie spot.” Lexa talked as if everything she said was the most important secret in the world. It made whoever was listening want to hang onto every word, even if they had no idea what was going on.

“Why are you showing me your secret cookie spot then?” Clarke asked, drawing her blonde brows together in confusion to create a little starburst of skin in the middle of her forehead. She tried to ignore how rapidly her heart was beating as she sat next to quite possibly the most stunning woman in the universe, who was apparently also a woman.

“Because I want you to like me,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’m Lexa Pramheda, by the way.”

She looked over at Clarke and gave a dazzling smile, and Clarke knew this would be the start of something she could never go back from. 


	5. 18 and 1/2 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support and the kind words! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The bookstore was warm and inviting, wrapping Clarke in a cloak of comfort as soon as she stepped in the door. The unmistakable smell of coffee and paper greeted her and she inhaled deeply through her nose, relishing the scent. It reminded her of when she was a little girl and her father would take her to get a book every Tuesday, never fail. 

“Okay, follow me,” Lexa said, wasting no time grabbing Clarke’s hand and dragging her along, weaving them through a maze of bookshelves. Lexa’s olive green burlap purse banged against her thigh with each eager step, emitting a soft jingling sound due to the abundant mass of buttons pinned to the front.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Clarke said with a giggle bubbling up in her throat. It was thrilling to be doing something that wasn’t routine, something that nobody knew about but her. It was thrilling to have this kind of freedom.

“Literally, I mean,  _ literally,  _ their white chocolate macadamia nut cookies will  _ blow  _ your mind,” Lexa raved, glancing over her shoulder to look at Clarke with big eyes and a toothy grin.

“Eh, I’m more of a plain ole’ chocolate chip kind of gal,” Clarke replied, wishing they could slow down for a second to browse the rows and rows of beautiful books they were so quickly passing.

“Not today you aren’t,” Lexa remarked confidently as they finally emerged out from the maze and into a quaint little seating area with mismatched plush chairs and a long, orange couch. Behind it stood a small counter that took up about half the length of the war fall, with an endearing handmade sign detailing their different options and prices.

Lexa hung back so that she stood directly beside Clarke, then leaned over and whispered in a sing-song manner, “ _ Blow  _ your miiiind.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and smirked, trying to keep a blush from crawling up to her cheeks as Lexa’s breath tickled her cheek and disturbed the wisps of hair hanging there.

Lexa marched excitedly up to the counter, pulling a wad of crumpled dollar bills from her purse. She quickly separated them, counted them out, mouthing the numbers out loud, then slapped them on the counter.

“I need two white chocolate macadamias and two chocolate chunk cookies, please,” She announced.

The man behind the counter smiled warmly. “Ah, Lexa. Back again, I see.”

“I brought a friend,” she replied, raising her eyebrows and jerking her head towards Clarke who hung back near the dreadful orange couch.

“A friend?” His dark, bushy eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “But you  _ never  _ show anyone your secret cookie place!” He chuckled and smirked when Lexa winked at him.

“I want her to like me, Andre,” she replied matter-of-factly, just as she had back in the car.

The man, Andre, gathered up the bills and stuck them in a little zippie bag under the counter, then produced a small white bag and handed it to Lexa.

“Good luck with that, kid,” He said with a chuckle, then returned to what he had been doing.

“I could’ve paid,” was all Clarke said when Lexa returned.

“I never said you couldn’t,” she replied, plopping down onto the couch which sucked her in immediately.

“Well, thank you,” Clarke said, still standing awkwardly.

“You’ll be singing my praises once you taste these cookies.” Lexa smiled smugly, then patted the seat next to her. “Aren’t you gonna sit down? I don’t bite.”

Clarke shuffled over to the couch looking timid, then took a seat on the edge of the couch.

“No, no. You have to surrender to the couch. Let it consume you. Like me.” Lexa leaned back further into the couch which seemed to fold around her, her legs nearly in the air as her bottom sank into the crevice between the cushion and the top of the couch.

Clarke, shaking her head and laughing, scooted back until she, too, was being eaten by the orange monstrosity.

“You are really something.” She muttered, her cheeks rosy as she looked amusedly at Lexa beside her.

Lexa thrust a cookie into Clarke’s face. “Eat and be merry,” she commanded with a twinkle in her eyes.

Clarke laughed again, and it occurred to her that she had laughed more in the last ten minutes than she had in the last two weeks.

She took the cookie, Lexa’s eyes wide with anticipation as she leaned in close and raised her eyebrows, watching Clarke intently as she took her first bite.

“This is…” Clarke’s eyes shot open. She held the cookie away from her face and looked at it incredulously, then whipped her head around to look at Lexa the same way.

“Oh my god,” she garbled around a mouthful, crumbs spilling onto the corner of her mouth.

“I won’t say I told you so,” Lexa grinned, closing her eyes and crossing her arms.

“You told me so,” Clarke said emphatically, taking another bite of the cookie and closing her eyes.

“Now you must swear to never ever tell anybody about my, and now  _ your  _ secret cookie place. Ever. As long as you live,” Lexa held out her slim little pinky, and Clarke grasped it with hers.

“I swear to never ever tell anybody about our secret cookie place as long as I live,” Clarke repeatedly solemnly, her lips curled up like she was trying not to laugh.

“Now count to thirteen,”

“Why?”

“A thirteen second pinky swear is absolutely unbreakable,” Lexa stated.

“You say that like it’s pure fact,”

“It is.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and chuckled, but counted to thirteen before releasing Lexa’s pinky.

“Do you like me?” Lexa smirked mischievously.

“I like you,”

“Why do you like me?”

“You tip well,” Clarke said, and Lexa let out a loud, unexpected bark of laughter, which made her heart swell. When Lexa laughed, her face lit up in brilliant radiance, the whole room was a few shades brighter and a few degrees warmer.

“I’m just joking,” Clarke said, then added, “kind of.”

“You’re good,” said Lexa, still giggling.

“I try.”

Lexa looked over suddenly, staring at Clarke. Clarke was taken by surprise and could feel her cheeks flushing at the sudden inspection and at the close proximity of their faces - she could feel Lexa’s breath.

After a few moments, Lexa said, “You have beautiful eyes. They make me trust you.”

“Who else do you trust?”

There was a pause.

“Nobody.”

“I guess I’m special,” Clarke whispered, her eyes roaming over Lexa’s face - the strong, straight bridge of her nose, the wonderful intensity in her green eyes, the way her cupid’s bow curved just perfectly as it met full, pink lips.

“I know you’re special,” Lexa said.

‘You don’t even know me,” Clarke said quietly, her pulse quickening.

“You’re right. But I want to.”

Clarke’s stomach flipped, and for a moment, one ridiculous, insane, absolutely laughable moment, she thought Lexa might kiss her.

Lexa pulled away, sensing the tension between them and clearing her throat.

“Lexa?” Clarke ventured. Lexa turned her head. “Would you...like to meet up again?”

Lexa’s face cracked into a wild grin,.

“You bet your sweet ass.”

“How do you know I have a sweet ass?”

“I looked.”

Clarke could feel herself tumbling down the rabbit hole, and she had absolutely no inclination to stop it. 


	6. 14 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys jinxed me about the whole "updating quickly" thing. Sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy. Thanks for the kind words!

“Hey, Princess.”

Finn’s keys jangled noisily as he dropped them onto the end-table near the door.

“Hey,” Clarke called back over her shoulder from the kitchen. Her blonde hair was pulled up with a clippie and pale wisps of it hung out loosely, the curls framing her face.

Within moments, she felt arms slip around her waist and Finn buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply and squeezing her middle. He placed a soft kiss to the tender skin of her neck, then murmured,

“What’s cooking?”

“Spaghetti,” she answered, patting his interlocked hands on her abdomen before scooting to the side to grab plates out of the top shelf of a cabinet. He let go of her and leaned back against the kitchen table.

“Always the master chef!” He teased her, grinning and reaching forward to playfully squeeze her ass.

She reached back and swatted his hand away quickly, but chuckled.

“Go upstairs and shower and I’ll have it ready when you come back down,” Clarke instructed, wiping her hands on her sweatpants and placing a lid on the simmering skillet.

Finn snaked his arms around her waist and leaned forward, his hands rubbing small circles on her lower back.

“Join me?” he whispered suggestively into her ear, a mischievous grin on his face.

Clarke pulled against his grip and turned her face away, “Not tonight, FInn.”

“Come on, why not?” He grabbed her chin and turned her toward him again.

She shrugged heavily, trying to gracefully maneuver out of his grasp.

“I just...I don’t really feel good, I have things to do tonight, okay?” Clarke avoided his eyes.

“You were feeling fine this morning. And you seemed fine ten seconds ago.”

“Seriously, Finn, just drop it, okay? Another night.”

Clarke grabbed Finn’s wrists and forcibly disentangled herself from his grasp, walking away from him and toward the living room.

“Hey, this conversation isn’t over, Clarke.” Finn commanded, pushing off the table and following her into the next room.

“Yes. It is.” She replied curtly, slamming a throw pillow back down on the sofa after fluffing it and moving onto the next one.

Finn reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, “Clarke.”

“What?!” She snapped, yanking her elbow out of his grasp.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

“You haven’t touched me in nearly a week, Clarke. What is going on with you? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No!” She huffed angrily, “I just don’t feel like it tonight, okay? Now drop it.”

_ Bzz-bzzz. _

“The conversation is over when I say it’s over!” He bellowed, raising his voice at her and grabbing her by the elbow more roughly this time.

Clarke set her jaw and stared up at him defiantly, breathing hard through her nose.

“I have to finish dinner.” She said coldly.

“I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but if you think for one second that this behavior is okay, we’re going to have problems, Princess.” His voice was threatening.

Clarke was silent.

“I come home from working all day, expecting, oh I dunno, at least a warm welcome? A hello? You barely say anything to me, you look like shit, dinner isn’t done, and now you’re acting like it’s outrageous for me to even suggest we have sex? Pretty  _ fucking  _ selfish if you ask me, Clarke,” He shoved her away from him, hard, and her back hit the corner of the couch.

She stood up, quickly, and tried to duck around him and leave the room. Clarke understood that any further confrontation would just end badly. Better to just leave him alone and let him cool off.

As she stood, her phone buzzed a third time.

_ Bzz-bzzz. _

“Who is texting you?!” Finn erupted, lurching forward to swipe Clarke’s phone out of her pocket.

She dodged him, turning swiftly. “It’s Mom. She’s been a little torn up lately since the anniversary is coming up.”

He paused, then extended a hand out, palm up.

“Give it,”

“I’m not giving you my phone, Finn.” Her face was scrunched up in indignation, placing one hand on her hip and the other protectively over her pocket.

“That sounds like something someone would say if they were hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything, I just don’t need you monitoring me like a child!”

“If you wouldn’t act like a child I wouldn’t treat you like one!” He lunged toward her. “Give me the goddamn phone, Clarke!”

She darted out of his grasp, but he grabbed her by the back of her arms and yanked her backward. She yelled and began twisting violently, managing to free one of her arms. Fearing he would lose the upper hand, he abruptly let go of her other arm as she tugged violently, causing her to go barreling backward, hitting the ground painfully.

He climbed atop her, pinning her down by the wrists. Clarke yelled in frustration, her chest heaving in anger as she fought uselessly against his grip.

“ _ No one disrespects me in my own home! Do you understand?!”  _ He screamed down into her face, his anger amplified even more by the fact that she was fighting back, the fact that she was talking back. It sent him over the edge. He  _ needed  _ to be in control. If rage was the only way he could have that, then so be it.

Clarke panted heavily for a few moments then suddenly spit as hard as she could into Finn’s face, inches from her own.

His entire face and neck turned bright red, and his eyes darkened visibly. It was as if something snapped inside of him, and Finn was gone again. Like usual.

Clarke stared deep into his dark eyes with her icy blue ones, and she didn’t look away until the force of his blow against her cheek knocked her gaze to the side.

Finn grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, shook her until her teeth clattered together. She felt like a rag doll.

“Don’t you  _ ever  _ fucking do that to me again! I’ll fucking kill you, do you understand? I’ll  _ fucking  _ kill you!” He shook her harder for emphasis.

Clarke was silent. She wired her jaw shut and stared back up into his unnaturally black, wide eyes until he shoved off of her and pounded up the stairs.

Clarke exhaled heavily and lay on the floor, her head spinning as she looked up at the ceiling fan going around, and around, and around.

_ Sa-squeak, sa-squeak, sa-squeak. _

She pulled her phone out of her pocket slowly, turning herself onto her side to see the bright little screen.

 

**Lexa**

_ Hey _

 

**Lexa**

_ What are u doing this weekend? _

 

**Lexa**

_ Can u tlk right now? _

 

Quickly, Clarke tapped back a short message, her heart feeling lighter just by reading her name on the screen.

 

_ No. Sorry. Don’t reply, I’ll message when I can. _

 

She let out a shaky breath and deleted the texts before standing up slowly, her cheek stinging.

As if in some sort of trance, Clarke set out two plates of spaghetti, fixed Finn a glass of tea in his favorite cup, and sat down, holding a bag of frozen peas to the side of her face.

She sat and she waited. She heard the water shut off upstairs. She heard the sound of her hairdryer screeching. She heard the sound of her heartbeat, pounding the same rhythm as Finn’s socked feet coming down the stairs.

He reached the bottom and turned to face her, saying nothing. He stood very still for several moments, then his posture, his demeanor, his face softened, and he walked quickly toward Clarke, nearly jogging.

“Baby,” he said, and Clarke was crying before he had even reached her.

He knelt by her chair and cupped her face in his hands, gently pulling the ice pack away from her cheek. The bruise on her jaw had faded, and in its place was a new yellow one right over her cheekbone.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, stroking his thumb over the injury, swiping away her tears.

Her cries turned into sobs as the weight of it all buried her, right in that chair. Her father’s absence, her mother’s pain, her own despair, her failure as a woman and as a daughter, her guilt over her budding feelings for Lexa. All of it seemed to crush her, threatening to break her bones in half, to crumble them to powder.

Finn pulled her down off her chair and she slid limply into his lap on the floor, her body wracked with sobs for the first time in what felt like forever. For the first time in months, she let herself let go. Everything broke free and she just wailed.

Finn unclipped her hair and gently smoothed it down, stroking it as she murmured soothing “shhh’s” into her ear, rocking her back and forth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Clarke,” he murmured, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. Never again, never again. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,”

She hiccuped. She sniffled. She cried. She said, “It’s okay.”

Because it was. Because it had to be. Because it was always okay. 


	7. 10 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter is a bit of a monster, but I've been up for hours and I'm so excited about it and the way this story is being received. You all mean the world to me!

Clarke’s reflection turned from side to side in the full length mirror as she scrutinized her outfit early Saturday morning. She had braided her long blonde hair straight down her back, and she wore a skirt and sweater combo that she loved. The sweater was a gift from her mother and it was a lovely mustard yellow color, not to mention soft. She paired it with a burgundy colored skirt and tights, with little brown boots and socks sticking out of the top.

It had been a while since she’d worn a skirt, or put this much effort into anything, much less an outfit, but it felt nice. She felt incredibly productive having gotten up early, showered, successfully chosen an outfit  _ and  _ put on makeup.

Finn was leaned over the bathroom sink brushing his teeth when Clarke quietly knocked. He kicked the door open all the way with his socked foot, simultaneously holding back his long hair as he spit into the sink.

“Wow,” he said as he glanced over at Clarke, “somebody really got with the program this morning.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” she chimed, smiling tightly. She felt a knot in the bottom of her stomach and she was trying hard to appear as cheerful as possible.

He grunted in response, wiping his mouth on a handtowel.

“So, um, is it okay if I go see my mom today?” Her right hand fiddled nervously with the bottom of her skirt.

“Sure, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

“Just checking. She asked me if we could have a girls day today and spend the night and everything.” She paused, then added, “You know I get homesick around this time of year.”

“It’s kind of last minute, Clarke.”

“I know, but you know how my mom is,” She pleaded.

He nodded, then took a closer look at her.

“Since when do you get so dressed up to go see your mom?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “I thought it might make me feel better to look all put-together. Do you like it?”

He stared at her a moment as if still deciding his reaction, then he smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You look as beautiful as always,” he said softly, stroking her braid, and she tried not to exhale too loudly with relief.

“Well, I better get going. I’m meeting Mom for breakfast. I just...wanted to tell you that I love you,” Clarke said, looking up at Finn curiously. It was so strange living with someone, loving someone, who was two different people. Did she love both of them? One of them?

...Neither of them?

She dismissed the thought. Regardless, it did not rid her of guilt or fear.

He smiled and tilted her chin up, bumping his nose against hers, “I love you too, Princess.”

“I love you more,” she whispered.

“I love you better,” he replied playfully, then kissed her forehead and slipped out of the bathroom. “Have fun today!” He called back from their room.

“Thanks, see you in the morning!”

Clarke bounded down the stairs and out the door, sliding into her beat-up old Chevy.

 

_ On my way. Secret cookie place? _

 

She received a reply within seconds.

 

**Lexa**

_ Be there in ten. See u ;) _

 

Clarke took a deep breath to steady her churning stomach. 

_ She’s just a friend, she’s just a friend, she’s just a friend,  _ Clarke repeated to herself as she puttered her way downtown and parked behind the old bookstore.

She took another calming breath as she checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. The eyeliner she had around her eyes made her blue eyes look sharp and striking. That was the one thing she actually liked about herself. She remembered Lexa’s comment last week,  _ You have beautiful eyes. They make me trust you. _

Clarke blushed just thinking about it. The two of them had been texting off and on since then. It was hard for Clarke, she couldn’t exactly be on her phone all the time without Finn getting suspicious. The fading bruise on her cheekbone throbbed as if to affirm and remind her of the truth behind that statement. Lexa knew something was up, Clarke knew she wasn’t stupid, but she knew better than to ask questions and Clarke knew better than to open her mouth. Besides, it was nothing anyway. Finn would get better, they would get better, and they could be in love all the time, not just some of the time. It would work out. It had to.

Stepping into the store felt like stepping into a warm embrace. Clarke purchased a small coffee from the counter at the front of the store, then excitedly made her way through the maze of shelves to the back of the store where the couches were. 

She turned one last corner, her heart in her throat, and…

It was empty.

There was no one there.

Confused and disappointed, Clarke’s heart sank down to her stomach but she tried not to let herself feel it too much. Lexa  _ had  _ said ten minutes, and Clarke had made it here early. She sauntered over to the back counter where Andre popped his head out from a swinging door moments later, making his way to the register. She could tell he remembered her by the smug little smile and the twinkle in his eye as he asked her what she would like.

“Two white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, please,” she said politely, holding out a five. Andre handed her a little white bag, winking at her as she took it, and she shook her head, smiling as she walked back over to the couch. She set her purse, her bag, and her coffee down on a small table and strolled over to a shelf to kill the time.

One immediately caught her eye, and she gingerly plucked it off the bottom row.

_ The Bell Jar,  _ by Sylvia Plath. One of her favorites.

Clarke settled into the orange couch, sinking back into the crevice as she pulled her legs up underneath her and began flipping through the book, reading bits at random and taking small bites of her cookie which was, by the way, just as mind-blowing as the first time.

She sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the morning and the soft couch and her braid resting on her back, and for those few moments she was at peace.

Then, a familiar voice broke the silence, disturbing her peace the way the tiniest leaf can disturb the still water of a river, causing gentle ripples in its surface.

_ “To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.” _

Clarke snapped her head up to see Lexa, clutching her ratty, button-bejeweled backpack, looking like some sort of angel, if angels wore ripped skinny jeans and XL thrift store sweaters underneath leather jackets.

“You’ve read it?” Clarke asked, smiling with one side of her mouth.

“Like a million times,” Lexa answered with a grin, plopping down beside Clarke on the couch.

“It’s my favorite,” Clarke began, just at the same time Lexa opened her mouth to say the same thing. They paused for a moment, looking at each other, then giggled.

Clarke handed Lexa the little white bag, “Here, I got you a cookie.”

Lexa smiled softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to,” Clarke smiled and shut her book, placing it on the table in front of her.

Lexa said nothing, but simply took a giant bite of her cookie, sinking further into the orange monster.

“Sorry about the other night,” she said after a while, “I didn’t cause any trouble, did I?”

Clarke hesitated a moment too long before replying, “No, not at all.”

Lexa looked at her curiously for a few moments, scrutinizing her face. Clarke blushed at the intrusion.

“You’re not very good at concealing things,” she said finally, and Clarke wasn’t lost to her double meaning.

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asked defensively, crossing her arms.

“Nothing,” Lexa sighed, then, after a pause, “Your eyes are insane today.”

“Insane?”

“Yeah, I want to write a poem about them. They look killer.”

“Thank you?”

“It’s definitely a compliment. I’ve already told you I think they’re beautiful.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Clarke blurted, then bit her lip, her face ablaze with embarrassment.

Lexa noticed the color change from eggshell to tomato red, but politely said nothing. 

“As do I you,” Lexa said with a twisted smile. “I’m going to go get some more cookies. I’m a monster, I know.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“I don’t blame you a bit,” Clarke murmured, her heart pounding.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way, she told herself. She didn’t even know anything about Lexa, and yet, something drew Clarke to her like a magnet. She couldn’t even fight its pull.

Lexa returned a few minutes later with six cookies and said, “Three for you and three for me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically, “I’m  _ never  _ going to be able to get even with you if you keep this up!”

“So don’t get even with me,” Lexa said, as if it was childishly simple.

“Then I would owe you,”

“Says who?”

“Says me,”

“Well I say, you don’t owe me shit. They’re cookies.”

“Still. I hate owing people anything.”

“Me too,” Lexa said. “Let’s agree not to owe each other.”

“Agreed.” Clarke extended her pinky and Lexa grinned as she counted slowly to thirteen.

Lexa hadn’t felt this content in a while.

They both settled into the couch, Clarke sipping her coffee and Lexa devouring cookies like a madwoman. Clarke seemed distracted, though, as if there was something going on in her mind that was slowly drawing her out of the moment.

“Hey,” Lexa said abruptly. “What’s going on up there?” She tapped the side of Clarke’s head.

Clarke didn’t answer immediately.

“Have you ever been in love?” Clarke asked, finally, taking Lexa by surprise.

Lexa stiffened, drawing back from Clarke as the latter girl turned her head.

“I have,” Lexa replied, looking down at her lap.

“What did it feel like?” Clarke asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

Lexa closed her eyes.

“Like waking up every morning and being glad you were awake.”

“Aren’t you glad to be awake now?”

“Are you?” Lexa countered defensively, and Clarke stiffened a little.

After a moment’s pause, Lexa asked, more softly, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Sometimes.” Clarke whispered, then cleared her throat. More loudly she replied, “Yes, I have.”

“What did it feel like for you?”

“It feels like…” Clarke struggled to find the words, “Like without that person, I’m not me anymore. Like I’d drown without them and be lost forever.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“How do you know?” Clarke snapped. “Everybody’s different.”

Lexa decided to save it for another time. The mood had shifted dramatically, and it hung in the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, just… tense. She just shrugged.

“Do you still… love them now?” Clarke ventured, leaning her head against the back of the couch as she watched Lexa’s face.

Lexa played with the ends of her hair and her jaw tightened visibly as she replied, “Of course I still love her.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say so she didn’t say anything.

“If I didn’t love her still, I never loved her to begin with. Do you understand, Clarke?”

The word  _ her  _ was ringing in Clarke’s head.

Clarke nodded solemnly, but she wasn’t quite sure she did understand.

Was there more than one type of love?

“Where is she now?” Clarke ventured in a tiny whisper.

“ _ Dead,”  _ Lexa thought. Immediately the word popped into her head, unwarranted, just like always. Every day, every minute, every second it was like she had a scratched CD spinning and spinning in her head, repeating the word.

_ Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. _

Instead, Lexa said nothing. She cleared her throat. She stood up. She brushed off her black jeans. She snatched up her bag.

“How about we take a walk? The air is nice this morning.” Her voice was laden with fake cheeriness.

Clarke knew she had pressed a button, knew she had crossed a line, and she regretted it. She wished she had never opened her mouth or said the dumb, sappy things that she had.

“Uh, sure. That sounds nice,” Clarke said awkwardly, grabbing her purse and her coffee and following Lexa silently out of the store.

Once they emerged outside, Lexa suddenly exclaimed,  _ “Shit,  _ the cookies!”

“I’ll be right back! I left them on the couch,” she said, and bounded into the store.

Clarke sat down on a little wooden bench a short ways down the stretch of sidewalk, the cold morning wind bringing color to her cheeks.

Almost immediately, she felt a presence on the bench beside her.

“You sure look pretty this mornin’,” a voice twanged in her ear. She glanced sideways to find an unfamiliar man sitting beside her, resting his elbows on his spread knees. Clarke was forced to scoot over and cross her legs tightly to maintain a respectable distance.

“Um, hello.” She muttered. “Thank you.”

“Aw, whatsa matter?” He asked, leaning forward to try to catch Clarke’s eye.

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a tight smile. She wished Lexa would return soon.

“C’mon, a smile’d do that pretty face some good!” He encouraged, reaching out as if to touch Clarke’s face. “Smile, sweetheart!”

Clarke jumped up before he could touch her.

“Um, if you’d excuse me,” she mumbled, making her way quickly back toward the bookstore.

She heard him stand and follow her, advancing quickly. She crossed her arms tightly around herself.

“Mm, look at that ass!” She heard from behind her, followed by a laugh. She realized then that he had a friend with him as well.

She felt a hand on her shoulder just as Lexa emerged from the bookstore, the door jangling.

Lexa stopped momentarily, facing Clarke, the wind blowing her auburn hair around her like a billowing curtain.

Then, seamlessly, Lexa bounded up to Clarke and took her hand, pulling her forward and kissing her on the cheek. Clarke did not have time to react before Lexa said, “Sorry I took so long, babe.”

“Oh, I see,” The man’s friend called loudly.

“You’re too pretty to be playing for the other team,” the man said, and Lexa saw his shit-eating grin as he added, “but the other one...she dresses like a dyke.”

“What a waste of a good ass, am I right?” His friend answered, and the two dissolved into laughter, high-fiving each other.

Lexa had him pinned against the wall, her forearm across his neck in a matter of seconds.

“The  _ dyke  _ suggests you go on your merry way before you seriously regret it, motherfucker,” She growled, pressing harder against his neck, causing his face to turn red.

“Hey, you crazy lesbian bitch -” The other man reached around from behind Lexa and grasped her chest firmly as he pulled her back.

He couldn’t even finish his sentence before he was interrupted by a sharp thud as she spun around and punched him square in the mouth.

He screamed in pain, holding his jaw. “Lesson number one, don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Lexa said threateningly, nodding her head towards Clarke, who stood stunned.

“And lesson number two, don’t  _ ever  _ lay a hand on me again.” She spit on the ground harshly, then spun on her heel. “Have a shitty fucking day, assholes!”

She grabbed Clarke by the hand again and took off at a jog, pulling Clarke behind her.

“What the fuck -” Clarke began, but Lexa cut her off.

“I know.”

“How -”

“Shh.”

“Why -”

“He shouldn’t have been speaking to you that way.”

Clarke was speechless. She had never experienced this feeling, this shock and awe that accompanied being defended. She had never had somebody stick up for her that way,  _ ever,  _ not since Jake had passed. And even then, it was different.

“That was….I…. _ thank you, _ ” Clarke said emphatically.

Suddenly, Lexa pulled away to stand in front of Clarke. They were standing in front of the window of a shop that sold exclusively Christmas decorations. The lights from the tree twinkled and blinked behind them like little fairies or bursts of magic as Lexa said, softly yet abruptly,

“Can I kiss you?”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.

“You’re...asking me? If you can kiss me?”

“I don’t want to disrespect your relationship. But I'm pissed off and I'm worked and I've been staring at you all morning and you're just...you're so beautiful. And I know it might be wrong, and I'm trying to be in the moment, but god dammit, it’s killing me to look at you and not kiss you.”

Clarke was astounded. The level of respect she was receiving was something so insanely new and uncharted...she didn’t even know how to react. Finn never asked before he did anything, he just...did it. Whether she liked it or not.

Clarke blinked rapidly, squinting up at Lexa in the morning light. The sun behind her made the red undertones in her hair glow like a halo.

“I think about you a lot,” was all Clarke said, her eyes wide.

Lexa smiled. “I think about you a lot, too.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you can kiss me.”

Clarke’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt like all billion zillion atoms in her body would explode, every inch of her skin was electrified, her entire body was buzzing with adrenaline from what had occurred only moments ago, not to mention the sheer intensity of bliss as Lexa’s lips pressed against hers.

She closed her eyes slowly, Lexa’s hair swinging forward to tickle Clarke’s cheeks as she leaned forward into Clarke, her hand gently cupping Clarke’s cheek.

The kiss was brief, but intense. Clarke honestly didn’t think she could’ve handled anything longer without her legs turning to jelly beneath her.

Lexa slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled away from their gentle kiss, her face glowing like it was backlit. Clarke kept her eyes shut for a few moments, as if opening them would thrust her into the real world and she’d realize she had dreamt this whole morning.

“I know that was crazy. I don’t even know you.”

“I know. But you want to,” Clarke replied, mimicking Lexa’s words to her last week.

“You have a boyfriend.”

“I do.”

“I’ve only met you once.”

“Twice, actually. Three times, now.”

“That was crazy.”

“What’s wrong with being crazy?”

Lexa’s face broke slowly into a radiant grin, and Clarke couldn’t help but grin back. The air around her felt alive somehow, as if the very earth were thrumming with the importance and the intensity of this moment.

The two stared at each other for several moments.

“You’re crazy, Clarke Griffin. And I love it.”

“If I’m crazy, you’re insane.”

“Then I’m insane. And I love it,” Lexa bit her lip as she leaned in again, and Clarke melted into this embrace, this moment that would save her life. 


	8. 9 and 1/2 Days Before

“I have to go spend the night with my mom tonight,”

Clarke was sitting with her back against a brick wall, yanking weeds out of the cracks in the concrete.

“Do you like going to see your mom?” Lexa’s breath came out slightly foggy in front of her. It was starting to get late, the sunlight was slowly draining from the sky, leaving the alley with that in-between feel that always comes with twilight, like time doesn’t exist. It was still light outside, but a sheet of grey seemed to be draped over their heads, diluting the sun.

Clarke nodded. She felt Lexa nudge her in the ribs and rolled her head to the side to take the joint from between Lexa’s slim fingers.

“I do.” She inhaled deeply, then paused for a moment. “It’s home. In the daylight I feel safe. At night though, it’s full of ghosts.” Smoke rolled off Clarke’s lips and into the small space between their bodies.

Lexa nodded emphatically, craning her head back to look up at the evening sky. Strands of her auburn hair were snagged on the rough bumps and grooves of the brick behind her head.

Clarke quirked her head curiously at Lexa.

“Where are you from, anyway?” She asked, handing the joint back. It was just a nub by now.

Lexa took it back, placing it between her chapped, pink lips. She inhaled, then coughed loudly and rubbed it out on the dirty concrete between them.

“That’s cashed,” she coughed, drawing her knees up to her chest and laying her head atop them. Clarke noticed how adorably her cheek and lips squished up. Lexa sighed heavily before speaking.

“Not here,” was all she said.

“How long have you been here?” Clarke reached out and gently tucked Lexa’s long, wild hair behind her ear, lifting it off her cheek.

Lexa shrugged, blinking rapidly. “A while. A year and a half maybe.”

“What made you leave?”

Lexa stiffened and turned her face the opposite way, her long hair sweeping the ground as she did.

Clarke was quiet for several moments, then whispered, “Ghosts?”

She saw Lexa’s head move up and down. Clarke placed her hand on Lexa’s back in a gesture of comfort, but Lexa shrugged it off.

The small alleyway where they’d been for the last couple of hours suddenly felt like the only place that existed. Anything outside of this place was just a void. These moments with Lexa stretched out for eternity and Clarke, her head comfortably swimmy, didn’t have the energy or the drive to imagine anything that would happen after this little eternity. Right now, what mattered was the present. Nothing more, nothing less.

Clarke pulled her knees up too and wrapped her arms around them. She addressed the far wall as she spoke, staring straight ahead.

“My dad died last year.” She took a steadying breath. “He was taking my mom out for their anniversary. They were married on December 13th.”

Lexa went still beside her, but didn’t turn her head back. She knew Clarke needed a sense of privacy to open up this way.

“Anyway, it was a surprise. He blindfolded her. He was taking her to this spot at the park where they met when they were teenagers.”

Clarke blinked rapidly. The graffiti on the far wall was a blur of colors swimming in and out of her vision.

“You know that four way intersection over there? The one on that really tall hill?” Clarke didn’t wait for an answer before continuing.

“That’s where they were. My dad was passing through the intersection from the bottom of the incline, where you can’t really see. He went, and this big truck came out of nowhere, from the left. Didn’t even stop.”

Clarke hiccupped, and when Lexa turned her head back and peeked through her curtain of hair, she saw tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving dark stains on the pavement. Clarke didn’t even raise a finger to wipe them away.

“My mom was blindfolded the whole time. When it happened, she couldn’t even see. She couldn’t even see his face the moment he died.” Lexa reached out her arms at the exact moment that Clarke’s body abandoned her, and she crumpled sideways, her legs still tangled together. She fell against Lexa, who straightened her legs and laid Clarke’s head down in her lap. Gently, she combed the golden hair at Clarke’s temple with her fingers, smoothing it back over and over.

“My mom couldn’t move. The front of the car was so folded in that her legs were trapped. She couldn’t even reach him,” Clarke barked a short, humorless laugh. “My mom’s a fucking doctor, you know. She’s a doctor. He was dying, and she couldn’t even help him.”

Lexa reached forward with her other hand, groping for Clarke’s hand. Her fingers were cold and Lexa squeezed them tightly, trying to force some warmth back into the pale girl in front of her. Clarke’s chest heaved as she attempted to choke down a sob.

“Which I guess it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because they said he died on impact. My dad. Dead. In a second.” She sucked in a shaky breath and suddenly wiped furiously at the tears on her face.

Clarke raised her head off of Lexa’s lap and wiped her nose with the arm of her sweater.

“Sorry, that’s gross, and I don’t know why I even told you all of that -” her voice was thick.

“Hey, stop.” Lexa cut her off, moving to kneel in front of Clarke, taking her face gently but firmly between her hands, forcing Clarke to look into her intense green eyes. “Stop apologizing. You can trust me.”

Clarke blinked rapidly, looking up at the sky in an attempt to stop her tears from falling.

“How do I know that?” Clarke whispered.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was urgent. “Please don’t take off. Please don’t...don’t shut me out. Ever since I saw you that night at  _ Cache _ I knew. I knew you’d become a part of my life, somehow. I knew I  _ needed  _ you to be a part of my life. And please, please, don’t call me crazy. Don’t dismiss all of this as something stupid, because it’s not stupid. It’s not. It’s real. I don’t understand it, but I know it is, and I know that I trust you even though I haven’t trusted anybody with anything in years, and I know that I have feelings for you now even though I didn’t think I could ever feel anything for anybody again after what happened, and…”

Lexa’s green eyes grew brighter as they filled with tears and she took a shaky breath, regaining her composure.

“And I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m not trying to pry or make you uncomfortable or take  you away from your boyfriend, because I know that….you love him. I just want you to know that even though you practically just met me, I’m your friend. And I will be your friend through anything. Okay?”

Clarke nodded, sniffling. She was at a loss for words.

“I know what it’s like to feel abandoned.” Lexa said softly, and Clarke’s face dropped. She raised her eyes timidly, looking up at Lexa through her long, dark lashes, and Lexa’s heart squeezed.

It terrified her how much she cared for this girl already.

Lexa tipped Clarke’s chin up with her finger and leaned in, watching Clarke’s eyes intently the entire time for any sign of hesitation. Clarke grabbed the back of Lexa’s head, weaving her fingers into the girl’s hair and pulling their lips together.

Clarke’s entire body lit up in flames and she let Lexa consume her.

She had no idea how much time had passed, how long they had been in this alley, how long she had been in Lexa’s embrace, how long they had shared the same air, but she knew it wasn’t long enough. They had spent all day together, from 9 o’clock this morning until now, and it still wasn’t enough. That’s when Clarke knew she was in trouble.

A sharp ringing noise jolted Clarke out of her reverie, and she looked around frantically before Lexa smirked and placed the phone in her hand.

“Oh, thanks,” she said sheepishly, sliding her thumb across the screen.

**Mom calling…**

“Hello?” Clarke tried to disguise the thickness in her voice.

“Clarke? Where are you? Have you been crying?” She could see Abby now, her brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, head cocked to the side.

“What? No, I’m uh, I’m on my way. I’m just running a little late, I’m sorry. I’ll be there soon.”

“Good, because I’ve got all the movies picked out and everything. The only thing that’s missing is you.” Her mother’s voice was soft and warm, and Clarke smiled to herself.

“Got it. See you soon, Mom. I love you,” Clarke said quickly, then hung up, slipping the phone into her purse that lay on the ground beside her.

Lexa, now standing, smiled softly at Clarke and extended a hand to help her up. Clarke took it obligingly, then used it as an excuse to intertwine their fingers as they walked back to their respective vehicles.

“So this is goodbye, huh?” Lexa mused, leaning up against Clarke’s truck.

“You say it like you’ll never see me again,” Clarke chuckled, fiddling with the door handle until it swung open.

“Well I sure as hell hope that’s not the case,” said Lexa, holding open the door as Clarke climbed inside.

“It’s not. Don’t worry,” Clarke replied, sitting sideways with her feet hanging out of the truck and her head resting against the seatback.

“Can I call you tonight?”

“Tonight only. Text me first and tell me when.”

“So I’m a secret, huh?” Lexa smirked playfully, resting a hand on Clarke’s knee.

Clarke sighed. “Not now, please, Lexa.”

“Sorry, just playing. I totally get it, and the last thing I want is to cause any problems.” She paused. “But you know I meant it when I said I would always be here if you needed help, right?”

“I know. But I don’t need any help. I’m fine.” Clarke smiled tightly, but her words did not match her expression.

Lexa decided it was a discussion for another day.

“Watch your feet,” she chimed as she shut Clarke’s door. Clarke swung her feet in and cranked the window down.

“Thank you for today, Lexa.”

“I’m here all week,” Lexa joked with a wink, then took several steps back, waving as Clarke started the engine with a loud, spluttering roar, and backed out of their little haven.

Clarke waved back with a grin, her mind swimming with thousands of questions about the mysterious and beautiful girl she wouldn’t admit she was falling for, and doggedly ignoring the guilt that was trying to claw its way out of her stomach.

Lexa waved until Clarke was out of sight, then trudged back to her car, looking up at the evening sky and wondering if Costia was really up there somewhere, and if she approved. 


	9. 8 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very brief but I thought it would be nice to see something from Lexa's perspective and get a little more insight into her character and origin.

Lexa laid in bed and stared at the ceiling as she spoke, her bare feet swinging back and forth, just barely brushing against the cold wood floor. Her oversized sweatshirt was rucked up, exposing her flat, tan midriff, and her bare legs were covered in tiny goosebumps. 

“I’m worried about her, Indra,” she said loudly so that Indra could hear her from where she was in the bathroom.

Indra and Lexa were not related, but Lexa regarded her unquestionably as her mother. When Lexa had confessed to Clarke that she trusted no one, Indra was of course the only exception, as she was to everything. Indra had been appointed by Lexa’s mother as her godmother before her birth, and when, seven days after her arrival into the world, Lexa’s mother disappeared, Indra became her primary caregiver. She and Lexa’s mother had shared a tumultuous relationship for years, but Lexa’s mother, although she had many flaws, was not blind to the strong-will and deep-rooted virtue that Indra possessed. Indra had never asked for a child, but that did not mean she didn’t accept it as her destiny when it was thrust upon her. Lexa was forever grateful, having been spared a forlorn adolescence in the foster system, and also having been privileged enough to grow up learning from the most dignified woman in the world. Indra was not known for her warmth or welcoming nature, but she was strong, and skillful, and cunning, and sharp, and tough. She raised Lexa with a kind of tough love that instilled very deeply in her the importance of loyalty, of independence, and of fearlessness.

Lexa had found in Indra a teacher, a mother, a sister, a kindred spirit, and a friend.

“You barely know this girl, Lexa. I would advise you not to let her disrupt your life’s balance, especially so soon in the relationship.” Indra responded in her cool, level voice.

“She’s special. I know the universe is calling me to her. For something. For some specific purpose. I just don’t know what yet,” Lexa ran her hands over her face frustratedly, combing her fingers through the hair at her scalp.

“Mm,” was all Indra said.

Lexa sighed. “I know you don’t believe me,”

“I just think you’re using your heart and not your head, Lexa. And I know that you know better,” Indra emerged from the bathroom then, wearing her pajamas. She gave Lexa a stern, pointed look, her lips twisted and one brow quirked.

“But sometimes...sometimes you just have to. If your heart is telling you something this strongly, wouldn’t it be a sin not to listen?”

Indra sat down heavily on the edge of the bed next to where Lexa lay.

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to play rescue with this girl in order to...to somehow compensate for not being able to save Costia?” Indra placed a hand gently on Lexa’s knee.

At the sound of Costia’s name, Lexa’s entire body tensed. She flew upright, her jaw tight and clenched, her eyes boring into Indra’s.

“You of all people should know me well enough to know that I am perfectly capable of separating myself from the past,” Lexa’s voice was rough and low. She stood up and faced Indra, looking down into her face. “And you of all people should know better than to throw that in my face!”

“I am just trying to keep you from getting hurt!” Indra replied, her voice like a coiled snake, all threat disguised under steady calm.

“And what about if  _ she  _ gets hurt, Indra? Doesn’t that matter?” Lexa, bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair roughly, blinking up at the ceiling to quell her pooling tears. “Aren’t you the one who taught me how important loyalty is? How important it is to protect the people who can’t protect themselves?”

Indra was silent.

“Were you thinking with your head or with your heart when you decided to raise me as your own, Indra? Answer me that.”

Indra stood very straight, her face betraying no sign of emotion.

“Both,” she answered curtly.

Lexa said nothing, prompting Indra to reluctantly explain further.

“I knew with my head that if I didn’t raise you, you’d likely grow up alone. Bouncing between foster homes. I knew with my heart that I could not let that happen. That I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Lexa’s green eyes stared back at Indra with a fierce intensity. Indra knew she had backed herself into a corner. Lexa was right on this one.

“Why can’t I think about Clarke with both? I know with my head that something isn’t right with her. I know she’s unhappy. I know with my heart that...that I’m the one who’s supposed to be with her through it.” Lexa shook her head. “I know it’s hard for you, or for anyone, to understand. But I  _ know  _ it.”

Indra was silent for several moments, then a tiny hint of a smile appeared on her lips. She crossed her arms across her chest.

“I knew I had done well with you. I didn’t realize how well until this moment.”

Indra gave her a nod of approval, and Lexa hung her head in relief and glee, closing her eyes and exhaling sharply.

“You know how much it means to me to have your approval, Mom.”

“You never call me mom.”

“I call you mom when I feel like your daughter.”

“You are my daughter.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve to be.”

Indra stepped forward and took Lexa’s face between her weathered hands.

“You always deserve to feel like my daughter. You...Lexa, you...you are my soul. You are the one thing in this world that I am proud of having been a part of. If anything, I don’t deserve to be able to call myself your mother.” Her eyes searched Lexa’s urgently.

“Don’t say -”

“Shh. Listen to me.”

Lexa closed her lips and nodded, Indra’s hands still resting on either side of her face.

“You have taught me just as I have taught you. I’m impressed by the young woman you have become, and I am so  _ proud _ to have taken part in bringing you to this point in your life. I am most proud that you challenge me. You may be my daughter, but you are Lexa first.”

“Thank you,” Lexa whispered, rendered speechless. Indra was not one for speeches or confessions of emotion. Once, as a child, Lexa had caught Indra crying in her bedroom, and she had honestly been terrified.

“If you think that Clarke is what your heart is calling you toward, I firmly support you in that belief. And I will do anything within my power to make certain that she is safe with you.”

Lexa nodded solemnly, acknowledging how powerful of a promise Indra had just bestowed her with.

“Clarke’s special,” Lexa replied.

“If she’s got you in such a frenzy, she must really be something.”

“Trust me,” Lexa whispered, “she is.”

Indra smiled softly and padded over to the bed, sliding under the quilt and turning on the bedside lamp.

“And Lexa?”

“Yes, Indra?”

“Costia will understand.”


	10. 4 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: abuse
> 
> This chapter is especially rough towards the end. Take care of yourselves.

The night air was cool on Clarke’s cheek, whipping her blonde hair around her face as she slouched in the passenger seat of Finn’s car. She rested her cheek on her fist and stared out the open window as they drove, counting the seconds between trees. 

“Do you need me to roll that up? It’s messing up your hair,” Finn glanced over at her and used one hand to try to flatten down an airborne blonde curl.

“No, leave it,” Clarke murmured, her voice muffled since her lips were smashed against her hand. Her blue eyes were heavy with makeup, her full lips painted a deep raspberry color. She wore tight, ripped jeans that she hated because they made her stomach pudge out over the waistband a little, and one of Finn’s green flannel shirts over a black crop top. She had it buttoned all the way up to her chest.

“It’s been a while since the two of us have been out together. You excited?” Finn reached over and grabbed Clarke’s hand and she leaned her head back into the car, resting it against the seatback.

“You bet,” she replied with a grin, staring straight ahead.

“What’s wrong?” His brows furrowed and his bottom lip poked out.

“Nothing!” She shook her head quickly and smiled.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and disrupting her heavy, dangling earring which jangled noisily.

She shrugged, glancing over at him.

“Get me drunk and I won’t be quiet.”

Finn laughed and Clarke smiled a little at her own joke, looking down at her lap. She was nervous about going out drinking with Finn, but she tried to put it out of her mind. Dwelling on the worst case scenario would do absolutely nothing to prevent it from happening, after all.

Gravel crunched as Finn pulled into the packed parking lot, the purple light from the glowing sign casting an ethereal glow on both their faces. Clarke had the familiar feeling that she was watching everything from outside herself, but shrugged it off.

The dull thump of bass could be both felt and heard from outside of the club, rattling Clarke’s sternum as she picked her way up to the front of the building, her left hand in Finn’s right as he guided her. Her heels kept sinking in the loose gravel.

Finn leaned over and whispered in her ear as they approached the entrance.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmured in a low voice, but his grip on Clarke’s hand was uncomfortably firm.

She smiled tightly and blushed, thanking him quietly.

Once they stepped into the building, the time for whispered conversations was over. The music blared and Clarke was overwhelmed by a roar of noise - people singing, talking, yelling, glasses clinking, girls squealing, bass thumping. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. Being in crowded, noisy places always unsettled her at first.

Finn put an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and led them to the bar, where he pulled out a stool for her. She climbed on and was short enough that her feet dangled, swinging back and forth.

The bartender noticed her immediately and swaggered down the counter to them. He leaned on his elbows as he addressed Clarke.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

Clarke blushed and averted her eyes, feeling Finn pinching the skin on the back of her forearm discreetly. She made a show of looking at Finn and asking him what she should get.

“She’ll take a shot of tequila and I’ll have a Jack and Coke, thanks.” Finn said curtly, releasing his grip on Clarke’s arm once the bartender turned around.

She rubbed the back of her arm and stared off at the dance floor, watching the mass of bodies twirl in and out of her vision. She thought she caught a glimpse of some familiar auburn hair, and her heart leaped, but when she looked again it had disappeared.

“A shot for the lady,” the bartender said, sliding a small glass Clarke’s way, “and this for you.” He sat Finn’s drink unceremoniously in front of him, walking off before he’d even fully released the glass.

Clarke knocked back her glass quickly and slammed it down, resting her cheek on her fist and slouching against the counter.

“Don’t slouch like that.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, straightening up.

“You want another?”

“Not right now.”

Finn raised a hand in the air and motioned at the man behind the counter, pointing to Clarke. He slid another glass down the bar toward her.

“I said not right now.” She cut Finn a look.

Finn said nothing, just took a swig of his drink.

Clarke rolled her eyes and shrugged, gulping it down quickly, then shaking her head distastefully as she set the empty glass back down.

Clarke’s head was bowed toward the counter, oblivious to the looks she was getting from a few men down the bar. Finn noticed, however, and shot all three of them looks from hell.

“What’s wrong with you?” Finn accused, tilting his head to look into Clarke’s face.

“What?” She jerked her head up, confused.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know dressing like that would make people look at you. I swear to God, Clarke, it’s like you do shit  _ just  _ to piss me off.” He shook his head in disgust.

Clarke looked down at herself, then back up, her brows furrowed.

“Dressing like what? This is your shirt, and you’re the one who made me wear these jeans.”

“Oh, don’t act stupid, Clarke.”

“I’m not acting!”

Finn shot her an icy look. “Lower your voice. Now.”

Clarke’s shoulders sunk and she ducked her head, quickly buttoning the flannel all the way to the top.

“Better,” Finn grumbled, motioning again at the bartender.

“Finn, chill out, we’ve only been here, like, fifteen minutes,” Clarke protested as another glass slid in front of her.

Finn rolled his eyes. “I thought we were going to have fun tonight, Clarke. Loosen up.”

She stared at him, knowing he could feel her gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look her way. She huffed and took her third shot. When she set it down, she caught Finn’s eyes focused on the backside of a tan, dark-haired girl in the corner.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Clarke deadpanned loudly.

Finn was oblivious.

“Finn,” she said louder. “Finn!”

“Huh, what!” He exclaimed, jolted out of his reverie.

“I’m sitting  _ right  _ here!”

“And?”

“You’re unbelievable!”

Clarke slid off her stool, marching toward the dance floor, her arms crossed over her chest.

Finn tried to shrug it off, shooting the bartender a faux-innocent look that said “What did  _ I  _ do?” but all he got was an icy stare in return. With a heavy sigh, he slid off his chair and followed after her.

“Clarke!” He called. She looked over her shoulder, then picked up her pace, immersing herself in the mass of dancers.

She quickly regretted her decision. The sweaty bodies pressing against her, jostling her, made the room feel like it was closing in on her. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and she felt panic rising up in her throat.

Gasping, she began frantically pushing her way back out of the crowd, bowing her head against the mass.

“Clarke!” She heard her name and spun around instinctively, expecting Finn, but the voice was female.

She looked around wildly for a few moments until she saw a pair of familiar green eyes, tan limbs pushing through the crowd toward her.  _ Lexa.  _ Clarke panicked, looking to her left, and caught a glimpse of Finn pushing his way unknowingly toward where she stood frozen. She backed away, looking frantically between Lexa and Finn, afraid of both of them for completely different reasons. A wave of intense guilt washed over her at her previous outburst regarding Finn’s behavior, when she was the one sneaking around, kissing a girl and falling for her, however reluctantly, behind her boyfriend’s back.

Clarke’s throat felt like it was closing up. Lexa’s eyes were wide with hurt and confusion as Clarke stumbled back suddenly, clutching her chest, out of the mesh of people. She landed roughly on her backside, pushing with her feet until her back touched the wall. She received a few odd looks from those nearby, and she pushed her face into her knees to block it out. Her breaths were quick and shallow, and she heard her name called again.

Not wanting Finn to see her like this and blame her for ruining the night so early, she forced herself onto her feet and took off quickly for their spot at the bar, her eyes stinging.

She jumped up onto the stool, placing her face in her hands and breathing deeply.

“One, two, three, four, five…” she counted silently to herself, counting her heartbeats to calm herself down.

“Hey, are you okay?” She looked up, and the bartender, rag slung over his shoulder, was resting his weight on his elbows and looking down at her. He had long, oily hair, but his eyes were undeniably pretty.

She cleared her throat roughly. “Yes, yeah, I’m fine, I just...hey can I get another shot? That’d be great, actually.”

The words practically fell out of Clarke’s mouth in her rush to be done talking to this guy before Finn saw it.

“Yeah, sure…” he turned around momentarily, then set the glass in front of her. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was gruff, but concerned.

“Mmhmm,” she grunted, knocking back her glass. “Another?”

“Maybe you should take it easy,” he said, taking the glass out of her way. “Where’s that guy you were with?”

Clarke shrugged, glancing toward the dance floor with panic shining behind her eyes.

“I’m Roan, and you are?” He narrowed his eyes at Clarke.

“Thirsty. Shot please,” Clarke pointed impatiently behind him. The liquor was settling in her stomach with warmth, spreading slowly throughout her limbs and siphoning the anxious thoughts and worries out of her body. Her head felt swimmy, in a good way.

With a sigh, Roan placed another glass in front of Clarke. Within seconds it was gone.

“Another,” she said, blinking her eyes rapidly. She drank it in one gulp.

Suddenly, Clarke was yanked off her seat, stumbling with a squeal into Finn’s side.

“What the  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing?” He growled, pulling her along roughly, his grip pinching her skin uncomfortably. Clarke, fuzzy minded and slightly jelly-legged, fumbled along uneasily.

“Drinking,” she replied absently, tugging feebly against his grip.

“Don’t you get smart with me, Clarke. You know what I meant.”

Clarke felt her back pressed up against a smooth surface. Her breath reeked of tequila and her words slurred together slightly when she replied.

“No I didn’t.”

“You think it’s okay to just storm away from me in a place like this? Clarke, anything could’ve happened to you!”

She shrugged indifferently, turning her head to the side to look past Finn’s shoulder. She spotted a group of girls mingling against the wall farthest them, smoking. They were staring right at her and it made her uncomfortable, so she turned her face the other way.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you!” Finn seethed between clenched teeth, grabbing Clarke’s face roughly in his hand, squishing her cheeks together.

“No!”

“No, what?!”

“No, I don’t think it’s okay!”

“So why’d you do it?”

Clarke shrugged.

“Why?! Fucking answer me!”

“Idunnooooooooooooo!” She slurred irritatedly, like an angry child, yanking her face out of his grip.

She blinked hard and fast, swaying slightly on her feet. She’d had seven shots in half an hour, and it was hitting her like a ton of bricks.  

Clarke turned her face away again, lolling it back against the wall, and spotted the group of girls again, swimming in and out of her vision. One of them particularly caught her attention. The girl in question took several steps forward and peered at them, squinting her eyes. She wore a white dress and had long, wavy auburn hair, high cheekbones and a strong, straight nose. Clarke recognized her immediately, even in her disoriented state.

Her stomach lurched and she ripped her eyes away from Lexa, shame flooding her cheeks with color.

“We’re going home,” Finn admonished, grabbing her by the arm.

“No!” Clarke stomped her foot and pulled against his grip.

“Clarke,  _ come on.” _

“Why’re you always so meaaaaaan?” She whined, twisting her features up into an angry look.

“Because I love you!” He boomed, shaking her by the shoulders. “Now, come on!”

“Hey, man, chill out, she’s obviously fucked up.” Lexa’s voice cut through every sound in the building. It was all Clarke heard.

Finn whirled around and rolled his eyes hard enough that Clarke imagined she could hear a clinking noise, like the slot machines in a casino.

“ _ Oh  _ my fucking  _ God,  _ it’s you again. Don’t you ever mind your own goddamn business?”

“I  _ would  _ if you weren’t being a fucking dickhead every time I saw you.”

“Look, I’m not in the mood tonight. My girlfriend’s fucked up and we haven’t even been here an hour yet. So fuck off, get out of my way, and let me take her home before I get mad.”

“And I definitely don’t want that do I? Because you hit when you get mad.”

“What?” Finn’s voice held a threatening edge.

“I said, you hit when you get mad. Don’t you? It makes you feel like a  _ man,  _ doesn’t it? To just knock the shit out of someone,” Lexa pursed her lips. “So hit me, then.”

Clarke hid behind Finn, staring down at her feet and holding onto the back of his t-shirt to keep from wobbling.

“If I were you, I’d watch out. Accusations like that are pretty fucking heavy.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, I don’t appreciate the way you’re handling her.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, she’s not listening!”

“She’s fucking smashed! Of course she’s not listening! She’s not a fucking dog!”

“Just get the fuck out of my way so I can take her home,” Finn stepped forward suddenly, disengaging Clarke’s grip on him, and shoved Lexa hard in the chest, sending her stumbling backward and out of his path.

Lexa stepped forward, her features twisted up in rage, but stopped short as she caught a glimpse of Clarke standing there, innocent and dazed. She was looking about the room wildly, unable to make her eyes focus on anything specific. She bit her lip nervously, stumbled along obediently as Finn grabbed her by the hand.

Lexa tried to catch her eye, but Clarke avoided her gaze.

Clarke felt Lexa’s eyes on her the entire time as Finn slapped a bill on the bar counter and tugged her roughly out the door.

The sudden drastic change in volume from being inside the club, where it was bone-thumpingly loud, and outside where it was, for the most part, still and quiet, further disoriented Clarke. Her head felt heavy and her tongue felt limp and dry.

She groaned as Finn yanked open the passenger side door and shoved her inside, slamming it behind him.

When he slid into the driver seat and slammed his own door, Clarke flinched reflexively.

“I swear to God you always ruin everything,” he murmured, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out onto the street.

Clarke leaned her head against the cool glass of the window pane.

“Just one night, one  _ fucking night,  _ Clarke, can it not be about you? Can it be about me for once, huh? Just one  _ fucking  _ night!” He slammed his palm angrily against the steering wheel. Clarke was completely silent, jolting in and out of reality.

“So now you can’t talk, huh? You’re just not gonna talk?” He was so mad he was practically spitting his words.

“That’s fine. You sit over there and be quiet. Pretend like you’re innocent as always, pretend like you don’t know what’s going on. You’ll get it when we get home.”

Clarke heard his words but couldn’t seem to process them fully. It was if she knew what the words meant individually, but in a sentence, it lost all meaning.

Clarke began to feel sick as Finn sped down the side street toward their apartment, and she clutched her stomach.

“Oh, hell no, you better not.” Finn screeched to a crooked halt in front of their apartment, reaching over to push Clarke’s door open.

She leaned out of the car and spewed all over the parking lot, nearly falling out of the vehicle and into her own mess.

Finn grabbed her under her armpits and drug her over the middle console and out the driver’s side door so that he could avoid the vomit.

He kicked the door shut angrily, eerily quiet now as he pushed Clarke towards the steps and in the front door.

Her head lolled from side to side, stumbling, her eyes half closed as he pushed her violently onto the couch, his fingers ripping at the buttons on her shirt.

Finn stripped her outer shirt off of her, then shoved up the black t-shirt she wore underneath. His leering fingers stabbed at the button on her jeans, yanking them down forcibly.

Clarke grunted in protest, blinking her eyes open. She kicked her legs feebly.

“Nuh-uh…”she murmured, tossing her head from side to side.

“Shut up. You’ve done enough already.” He spit. He leaned down to press his mouth onto hers, but gagged as the smell of alcohol and puke rolled off Clarke’s lips. Angry, he shoved off of her and stomped up the stairs to their bedroom, leaving Clarke on the couch with her pants pulled halfway down her legs and her head hanging off the side.

Lexa sat outside the club, her heart beating rapidly as she pulled at the roots of her hair. Strands of it came out in her fingers. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, her mind racing.

She pulled out her phone and stared at Clarke’s name on the screen, dying to call but knowing now, for certain, that she had been right to worry about Clarke. 


	11. 3 Days Before

“Ughmph,” Clarke woke with a groan. She rolled over, pulling strands of hair off of her sweaty cheek. Clarke smacked her lips, the inside of her mouth feeling like the Sahara desert. Sleep was heavy in her eyes, forcing her lids closed once more, and she suddenly became aware of the obnoxious throbbing she felt in her head.

She rubbed her eyes with her fingers, making rainbows appear behind her eyelids, swung her legs off the couch, and promptly fell flat on her face with a thud that rattled the whole apartment.

“Ow, Jesus, Mary ‘n’ Joseph…” Clarke muttered, rubbing her head and rolling slowly over onto her back. She raised her heavy head up momentarily to find her jeans around her calves, then let it drop back onto the floor with a bonk.

“What the fuck?” She whispered into the faded darkness, pressing her hands over her eyes as she kicked her jeans off. She left them in a pile on the floor beside her.

Groggily rolling onto her knees and then onto her feet, Clarke made her way clumsily to the bathroom. When the light flicked on, the reflection staring back at her scared her so bad she actually jumped.

Her eye makeup was clumped and streaked under her eyes and a good ways down her cheeks. Her lipstick had smeared across the side of her chin. She looked pale, and her hair was a mess of tangles. She looked about as shitty as she felt.

Clarke flipped on the water and spread a dollop of toothpaste onto her brush, trying to rid herself of her putrid breath - a mix of vomit, alcohol, and good ol’ morning breath. As she did so, she racked her brain for a reason as to why she’d woken up on the couch with her clothes half torn off.

She remembered the club. Finn ordering her shots. Storming off into the crowd. Roan. Lexa?

Clarke stopped brushing, her head tilted to the side.

_ Was Lexa really there? Did I make that up? _

Clarke shook her head and continued retracing her steps.

She remembered Finn being mad. No specifics. She just remembered the feeling.

She spit into the sink, scrubbed her face off with a washcloth, and padded back out into the living room. The clock read 6:46 AM.

“Fuuuck,” she groaned, pulling at the roots of her hair as she shuffled into the kitchen to take a tylenol.

Stomping up the stairs, Clarke tied her hair back in a loose ponytail before palming open the door to her bedroom. Finn lay sleeping, one foot out of the covers, his shaggy hair spread all over the pillow, his mouth slightly open.

Clarke thought back to the first night they’d slept together, the way he’d looked at her that morning, like he knew there was no going back.

_ “Morning, Princess,” Finn said, stroking Clarke’s hair away from her face. The morning light surrounded him as he looked down at her, illuminating the tips of his hair and making him seem angelic. _

_ “Mmm, morning,” Clarke grunted, rolling over so her face was shoved into the pillow. _

_ Finn’s fingers ghosted over her bare back, making her grin but shiver. _

_ There was silence for several moments before she heard him whisper, “I wanted it to be you, you know.” _

_ Clarke was silent for a moment. _

_ Then, “Wanted what to be me?” _

_ “I wanted it to be you. That I was with. I wanted you to be the one in my bed when I woke up. Not just because you’re funny or because you’re passably cute, but because you’re  _ you.”

Clarke shook her head, a grin playing on her lips, then shuffled across the room and fell into bed next to Finn. She shimmied under the covers, embracing the warmth from his bare skin, snuggling her cheek against his chest.

She loved him.

When she woke again, the bed was empty. At first she panicked. It was Saturday, Finn didn’t work on Saturdays, there was no reason the bed should be empty…

Clarke threw back the covers and half-ran, half-fell down the stairs in her panic, shouting Finn’s name, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

“Finn!” She called, frantic, ignoring the screaming pain in her temples.

“Clarke! What are you on about?”

Her entire body relaxed as she exhaled a heavy sigh. It was okay. He was okay.

Finn was standing in the kitchen in nothing but his blue boxers, flipping pancakes on the stove. A plate of bacon was sitting on the counter beside him, covered by a paper towel.

“What’s all this?” She asked, her eyes alight.

“I thought you could use a pick-me-up this morning,” he said, smiling over at her as he ran a hand through his adorably mussed up hair.

“Aww, Finn, this is so sweet of you,” Clarke murmured, grinning, snatching a piece of bacon from under the napkin. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Finn leaned over and kissed the top of her head tenderly.

“There’s a pot of coffee on over there. It should help.”

“You’re fantastic,” Clarke replied, grabbing her favorite mug out of the cabinet above his head.

She ran her fingers over the worn letters on it’s side. It was a gift from Finn that he’d gotten for her when she’d moved in with him.  _ It’s not home without your own special coffee mug,  _ he’d chimed, smiling his signature lopsided smile. Her heart had melted.

It bore an adorable little glass slipper, surrounded by tiny stars. Beside it, it read,  _ It’s hard to wake up when you’ve been out past midnight! _

_ “Because you’re my princess, you know? Like, I mean, how I call you princess all the time? And it’s like, you know, it’s Cinderella…” Finn stammered, his cheeks turning slightly red. _

_ Clarke giggled and kissed him on the lips mid-sentence. _

_ “I love it,” she assured him. _

Clarke plopped down at the kitchen table with her coffee in hand, the cold, bare seat stinging her naked thighs. She winced, then took a large gulp.

“God, my head is killing me…” she murmured, leaning her head down and rubbing her temples.

“Yeah, you drank quite a bit last night, babe.”

“How much?”

“Like seven or eight shots. On an empty stomach.”

“Fuck,” she groaned.

“Totally.”

Finn set a plate in front of her with a clatter. When she moved her hands away from her face, she saw the he had ripped up little strips of bacon to make a smiley-face on her pancake.

She grinned widely, shooting him an appreciative glance before dousing the entire thing in syrup.

“Speaking of last night,” Clarke shoved a large piece of pancake in her mouth, talking around it, “do yew know how I enned up on da couch laf night?”

Finn cleared his throat and looked down at his plate, pretending to be particularly concerned with cutting his pancake.

Clarke swallowed with an audible gulp and continued, “And what’s weirder is that, like, my pants were around my ankles? Like what’s that about?”

Finn shoved two pieces of pancake into his mouth, washing it down immediately with a swig of milk. He avoided Clarke’s eyes.

“Finn,” she said firmly. “Helloooo?”

“Huh?” He said, looking up with wide eyes.

Clarke’s brows scrunched up.

“I know you heard me,” slowly realizing, Clarke stopped chewing and set her fork down with a clatter, leaning back from the table.

“Well, uh…”

“Finn! Do you know or not?”

“Babe, I’ll tell you, but first I just want to say that I’m really sorry and it won’t happen again-”

“What. Happened.”

“Well, at the club, you were so drunk, you couldn’t even walk and you were throwing up, and you wouldn’t let me take you home, and that girl from Cache was there for some reason and she started a fight with me and…”

“What girl from Cache?” Clarke’s head snapped to attention instantly.

“I dunno, the one with the really long hair who yelled at me about tipping and told me to go fuck myself. Why does that even matter?”

“It doesn’t. Go on.” Clarke cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

So Lexa really had been there. Clarke barely had time to register how ashamed she felt.

“Anyway, well, you were just being so difficult and I was frustrated and…and well I needed something to take my frustration out on so I just threw you on the couch and started…”

“You  _ fucked  _ me?! While I was  _ passed out?”  _ Clarke screeched, standing up so suddenly that her chair flew back behind her and clattered loudly on the linoleum floor.

“No, baby, I didn’t...we didn’t…”

“ _ Don’t  _ call me baby…” Clarke seethed, pressing her palms to the side of her head in disbelief.

“Clarke, I’m sorry…”

“I can’t believe you would even  _ think  _ that’s an okay thing to do, Finn, like in what  _ universe  _ is it ever okay to touch someone without-”

“But I didn’t okay? You smelled horrible so I just went to bed.”

“And if I hadn’t smelled horrible?” She challenged, shifting her weight onto one hip.

“That’s not the point. You did smell horrible and the fact is that nothing happened.”

“But you still left me there. On the couch. Half-naked.”

“What was I supposed to do? Carry you all the way up the stairs? Clarke, you’re not exactly lightweight…”

“You couldn’t even bother to put a blanket on me? Huh? You just  _ left  _ me there?” Clarke paced back and forth between the cluttered refrigerator and the kitchen table.

“Clarke, I really think you’re making this a bigger deal than it really is, I mean, I was just  _ mad-” _

_ “ _ YOU CAN’T USE THAT AS AN EXCUSE EVERY TIME, FINN!” Clarke exploded, smashing her balled-up fist against the fridge door, tears stinging her eyes.

Finn slammed his chair back and crossed the space in two long strides, gripping Clarke by the shoulders.

“Listen, Clarke-”

“No, Finn, I’m not going to-”

“ _ Listen to me!”  _ He boomed, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. She stopped talking immediately, her eyes wide with familiar fear.

“I love you, okay? I’m sorry. I love you and it will never, ever,  _ ever,  _ happen again, I promise,” He looked deep into her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together in a tight line.

“I’m not sure I can believe you anymore…” Her voice was small, just a squeak, as she tried to keep from breaking. She shrugged out from under his arm, striding quickly toward the living room.

“Clarke!” He called, following after her, trying to catch her arm. She swiftly ducked away from him, grabbing her jeans and pulling them on, hopping around the room.

“Stop, Finn.”

“Clarke!” He called, grabbing her arm as she snatched up her purse and keys. “Clarke what are you doing?”

“I can’t anymore, Finn! I can’t!” Her voice cracked as she headed for the front door.

“You’re not leaving me!” He boomed, yanking her backward by the wrist. “Do you understand?! I will not let you leave me!”

“I’m not leaving you!” She screamed. “I just can’t stand the sight of you right now, Finn.” She yanked her arm violently out of his grasp and turned the handle, slipping out the front door and slamming it behind her.

She made a run for her car, sliding in and locking the door behind her just as Finn yanked open their apartment door and came running out in his boxers, screaming.

“Clarke! Clarke Griffin! You can’t  _ fucking  _ do this, do you hear?” She heard his muffled calls as she started her truck with a roar and squealed out of the parking lot. She saw a curtain ruffle as the old lady next door peered out the window to get in on the ruckus. Another neighbor watched, smoking, from his front porch stoop.

Clarke had never before felt so embarrassed, ashamed, and uncomfortable in her own home, in her own skin.

She made it to the third stop sign before she broke down. Sobs racked her body, shook her chest as she pulled off onto a side street and parked, hanging her head over the steering wheel.

Almost without consciously doing it, she fished her phone out of her purse and slid it open. The bright screen hurt her eyes and she squinted as she quickly tapped out a message.

 

**I know you were there last night, I don’t want to talk about it. But can we please get breakfast? Starving and hungover.**

 

Clarke had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t get Lexa involved in this. She couldn’t drag somebody else into this black hole with her, she couldn’t and she wouldn’t. But this wasn’t really dragging her into it - was it? Lexa had said she would always be there. And, however strangely, Clarke really believed she meant it. The only person she wanted to talk to right now, besides her mother, was Lexa.

Now that she thought about it, Lexa was the only person besides her mother that she  _ could  _ talk to. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d hung out with her friends on her own since she’d been with Finn.

_ Bz-bzzz. _

 

**Lexa**

**Cookies for breakfast? Like usual?**

 

Clarke smiled, despite herself. Her tight, tear stained face strained at the movement.

 

**You bet. Beat ya there.**

 

 

Clarke pulled up into the now familiar parking lot and furiously blotted at her eyes in the rearview mirror.

Clarke was startled by a knock at her window, jumping in her seat only to find Lexa with her nose pressed against the glass like a child, making her look like the most adorable little pig.

Yanking the keys out of the ignition, Clarke opened the door, Lexa stepping back out of her way.

“You alright?” Lexa asked softly at first, placing her hands softly on Clarke’s shoulders. She didn’t miss the fact that Clarke was wearing the same clothes she’d worn last night.

Clarke nodded, then felt Lexa’s slim fingers slip effortlessly between her own. She felt her chest relax and the tightness in her limbs fade just due to this simple gesture.

“I’m just ready for cookies,” Clarke whispered.

Lexa glanced over at her, noticing her puffy face and her red eyes, but said nothing, just squeezed Clarke’s hand as they stepped into the bookstore.

“I’m just ready to be with you,” Lexa whispered, so softly she wasn’t sure if Clarke heard her or not.


	12. 3 3/4 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been almost a week since I've updated which is very unusual for me. I apologize sincerely, I have been dealing with things lately and have lost most of my motivation to write. Here's a chapter that occurs within minutes of the last one, because of course I am dragging out the days up until "Now" because I am evil and I suck. Thanks for all the love, I really do appreciate it. Enjoy.

Lexa’s hair fell in a curtain over her shoulders, still slightly damp from her quick shower before coming. She was leaned over in concentration, her eyes narrowed as she meticulously drew on the pale skin of Clarke’s inner wrist.

Clarke giggled, resisting the urge to pull her hand away.

“That tickles!” Clarke protested, to which Lexa smirked without looking up, trying not to laugh along with her.

“Stop laughing you’re gonna mess me up!” She scolded, pressing her lips tightly together so she wouldn’t laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for disrupting you, Miss Artist,” Clarke rolled her eyes playfully and sat very still as Lexa continued her ministrations, but used the opportunity to quietly observe Lexa without her noticing. Clarke noted her high cheekbones, the way they were glowing as if perpetually sunkissed; her strong, straight nose that was delicate and fine and yet gave Clarke an image of a Viking Queen, ruthless and feared; her eyelashes, how they were almost as long on the bottom as they were on the top; and most of all, her lips, how full and smooth and porcelain perfect they were, as if they were holy, much too sacred for Clarke to touch - yet oh, how she longed for it.

“Aaaand….done!” Lexa proclaimed proudly, jerking up suddenly and raising her pen hand in the air. Clarke yanked her eyes hurriedly away from Lexa’s mouth.

“Wow! It’s...that’s beautiful, but what does it say?” Clarke held her wrist up to her face and peered at it.

On her wrist were written the words “Ai hod yu in” in the center of a beautifully done mandala. Clarke tried reading the phrase from back to front, but it still had no meaning.

“It says, um,” Lexa cleared her throat and looked away at some indiscriminate spot on the far wall that had suddenly, for some reason, caught her attention. “It’s just this language that Indra - I mean, my mom - and I made up when I was a kid,” 

“Really? You guys made up a language? I always tried to do that at sleepovers when I was a kid, but it’s so hard! You don’t realize how weird words are until you try to invent them.”

Lexa chuckled, looking still towards the wall. She ran a hand nervously through her long hair.

“Yeah, my mom’s pretty smart.”

“Well what does this say?” Clarke asked eagerly, shaking Lexa’s shoulder.

“It says, um…”

“Lexa! What. Does. It. Say.” Clarke said, her eyes bugging out as she playfully poked Lexa in the arm after each word. “What do it saaaayyyy???”

“It says I love you!” Lexa burst out, slamming her hands on her thighs with a loud smack.

Clarke flinched away from the noise, then froze immediately.

Her words hung in the air for several uncomfortable moments.

“Well, do you?” She asked quietly.

Lexa looked back at her with pleading eyes.

“Clarke, I didn’t really…” Lexa began, reaching toward Clarke.

“No, that’s not what I asked. I asked if you loved me. Do you?”

Silence.

“Do you?” Clarke challenged, standing up quickly and looking down at Lexa sitting hunched on the orange couch.

“Yeah,” Lexa whispered, barely audible.

“What?” Clarke stammered, stepping backward.

“I said, yeah.” Lexa repeated louder, looking up into Clarke’s intense blue eyes

“Oh... my God…” Clarke placed her palms against her temples and turned in circles, muttering to herself. “You cannot be doing this to me right now…”

“Doing what, Clarke?” Lexa’s temper flared. She hated being mocked. She stood up and grabbed Clarke by the shoulders to still her.

“This, doing this!” Clarke’s voice was rising in pitch as she gestured between the two of them.

“This  _ what!” _

“ _ This,  _ this saying you love me and making up bullshit just to try to, to, to…” Clarke shut her eyes, her pitch bordering on hysterical.

“To what, Clarke?! To try to help you? To try to figure out what the  _ fuck  _ is going on with you at home? To try to rescue you from that fucking piece of  _ shit  _ you live with-”

“You don’t know  _ shit,  _ okay?!” Clarke shoved Lexa in the chest, sending her stumbling backwards against the couch. “You don’t know  _ shit! _ You don’t know anything, you don’t even know me so don’t you dare pretend like you do!”

“I know he hits you! I know you hate it there-”

“ _ I love him!”  _ Clarke shoved Lexa again but this time Lexa caught her wrists and pushed her several steps back. Clarke let her arms slam angrily against the side of her thighs. “And he loves me!”

“No, he doesn’t, Clarke!”

“You don’t  _ know _ ! You don’t know him, so don’t fucking  _ say-!”  _ Clarke’s voice cracked as tears pooled in her eyes.

“I was there last night Clarke! I saw him! I saw him hit you!”

“You’re  _ lying _ , Lexa, why are you lying? Stop. Lying! He loves me, and you don’t know, okay? You don’t  _ know!”  _ A sob broke free from Clarke’s chest and she looked down at the floor, stepping backward until her back hit the smooth wood of a bookshelf.

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked up, her eyes puffy and bloodshot.

“Um, I hate to have to do this to you ladies, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disrupting other guests in the store. You need to take this outside.”

It was Andre, Lexa’s friend who always worked behind the cookie counter. One quick glance at Lexa and Clarke knew she was feeling betrayed, not embarrassed.

“That’s fine, I was just leaving anyway.” Clarke replied curtly, her voice thick as she snatched up her purse and fled, power walking through the rows of books. The aisles that had once seemed so safe and familiar now seemed menacing, as if the people on the covers of all the books were staring at her, judging her, analysing her. 

“Clarke, stop! Stop, just listen to me, okay? Hear me out!” Lexa called, running after her. Clarke picked up her pace, barrelling out the front door of the shop, the bell jangling loudly behind her. Several old women in plush chairs were frozen behind Better Homes and Gardens magazines.

Lexa pushed through the door only moments after Clarke, emerging into the chilly morning air.

“Clarke, listen!”

“I don’t want to hear  _ anything  _ you have to say, alright?” Clarke whirled around, her jaw set. “Nothing! Everything out of your mouth is a lie!”

“You know I’m not lying, Clarke!”

“Finn loves me and I love him and it is not your place, nor will it ever be your place to tell me otherwise! I am not your  _ fucking  _ charity case, and I am  _ done  _ with this and with you.” Lexa flinched, her features crumpling.

“Go play hero with someone else, because I don’t need saving. Bye, Lexa.” Clarke turned quickly and ran, her purse thumping against her leg. She made it around the corner before hitting her knees, crumpling against the side of the Christmas store where she’d shared her first kiss with Lexa.

Gasping for air, Clarke hit her head against the side of the brick wall repeatedly. She felt as if her throat were closing up, like she’d never stop crying and she’d never be able to breathe again. She whimpered and sobbed, clutching at her stomach and rocking back and forth as the world swirled around her like a nightmare.

No one, no one, no one, no one. She had no one. It was her fault, she drove people away, she made them mad, she made them cry, she made them hate her, it was her fault. It was all her fault and she was the worst person in the world, she deserved to cry, she deserved this, she deserved every hit she ever got, she deserved all of it. She wished Lexa had pushed her, had shook her, had hit her or  _ something  _ for the way she acted, for how she led her on, gave her hope, lied about everything. It was her fault. She deserved it. She had called Lexa a liar but she was the liar. Her whole life was a lie. Everything. All of it. It was all nothing.

Clarke clawed at the skin on her wrist where Lexa had drawn, digging her fingernails in until angry red marks appeared on her skin under the pen. Her breaths came shallow and rapid, wheezing in and out of her mouth like a siren.

Clarke closed her eyes tight, as tight as she could until colors bloomed behind her lids.

_ One...Two...Three...Four…Five… _

She counted slowly, desperately, matching her breathing to her counting. She knew she had to get it under control before someone saw her. 

By the time she reached ten the attack had subsided and Clarke was sitting with her knees drawn up and her head leaned back against the dingy brick, her heart pounding and telling her with each thump that she was alone,

alone,

alone,

alone.

Finn loved her. He really did, she knew it. That’s why he did what he did because he just felt things so deeply. To the very core of him. And she loved him. She really did, she knew it. 

So why did she do what she did? Why did she feel so torn all the time? So disappointed? So ashamed? She was ashamed that Lexa knew, that Lexa saw the way Finn treated her, the way she let him treat her. As if she had no respect for herself, as if she had no backbone, no anything. She was ashamed of it all. Ashamed that she couldn’t live up to the standard her parents had set, ashamed that she was somehow faulty, that this was the best she could get, ashamed that a beautiful girl who may or may not have loved her knew her for what she really was - a spineless, pathetic, waste of space. A nobody. A nothing.

She had cheated on the man she loved. She had lied to him and to Lexa. Used her grieving mother as an alibi.

And it was all coming back to smother her.

Who was she?

Clarke was silent as she walked back in the door to her apartment. Finn was there. He wasn’t angry anymore. He apologized. She nodded. He hugged her. She let him. She nodded again when he said he loved her.

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She took off all her clothes. She climbed into bed and laid there. And she did not get back up.


	13. 2 Days Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are such darlings, thank you for the reassurance regarding my last post. I wasn't expecting such positivity; thank you again for giving this story so much love.

The sun was setting outside her window, casting a dim orange glow over the room as the fading light crept through her sheer curtain. The light cast a sort of ethereal energy into the room, a kind of unsettling, lonely feeling that crawled into the space between Lexa’s heart and her sternum. 

She lay upside down in her bed, one bare leg hanging off the side, auburn hair splayed across the mussed up white down comforter. She swung her foot absently back and forth beside the bed as she talked, wiggling her crimson painted toes.

“So anyway, then she starts accusing me of lying and keeps saying, ‘Stop lying, Lexa! You’re lying, stop being a liar, you’re lying’ over and over again and it’s like,” She took a swig from the bottle of cheap strawberry wine in her hand, “we both  _ know  _ I’m not lying, you know?”

The comforter made a swishing sound as she turned her head to face Anya, whom she considered pretty much her best friend but, most importantly, her sister. Indra had phoned her and invited her to stay a few nights. Anya was technically her mother’s friend, but she was as much older than Lexa as she was younger than Indra, so the bond was pretty easily flexible. Indra had mentored Anya, too, who had grown up in foster care, and Lexa felt it was a large part of the reason why Indra adopted her as a child, having seen the effects of the system firsthand. Anya had a big-sister-like influence on Lexa, but the two seemed to effortlessly execute a symbiotic relationship, both leaning on the other equally for wisdom and love and support.

“Well, how do you  _ know  _ you’re right though? I mean, can you imagine what it feels like to be her in that situation? On the one hand, if you are right, then she’s being exposed by a person she trusted to be a safe place. I’m sure she feels blindsided and vulnerable. On the other hand, if you’re wildly misconstruing things, then she’s feeling attacked and humiliated, Lexa.”

Anya had her long legs tucked under her on the bed as she absently braided a long strand of Lexa’s hair.

“Oh, c’mon, Anya, you were there! At dinner that night, that’s the girl! That’s Clarke! You saw her, you saw the way he was-”

“I saw a man with a bad attitude who doesn’t believe in tipping. I didn’t see an abusive psychopathic manipulator, which is what you’re selling me.” Anya quirked an eyebrow and pursed her lips at Lexa.

“I’m not selling you anything, Anya, I’m telling you the truth. I’ve seen how scared she acts all the time, she flinches at literally anything, she’s like a stray little dog or something. And she’s not too good with the whole makeup thing so I’ve seen the bruises on her jaw and eyesocket,” Lexa rolled her eyes over toward Anya in an  _ I told you so  _ manner, pursing her lips right back.

“Okay, but-”

“ _ And,  _ not to mention, literally two fucking nights ago I witnessed him  _ myself,  _ shaking her like a ragdoll and screaming at her in the corner of a club when she was trashed drunk and couldn’t even stand.”

Anya inhaled deeply and slowly, then exhaled loudly through her nose.

“So why don’t you call the police then, Lex?” Anya finished the braid she’d been working with and laid down beside Lexa on the bed, grabbing another clump of hair to play with.

“Because it’s not that easy, Anya, I-”

“Uh-uh. She gets to use that excuse. Not you. You’re not the one being abused here.”

“I know that. It’s just...I really care about her, you know? I told her I was a safe place for her. How shitty would it be if I said that and then turned around and betrayed her trust in me?”

“But would you really be betraying her trust? If she’s in real danger then the right thing to do would be to remove her from harm, and if you really cared about her you’d do that and call the police.”

“And then what? He gets a slap on the wrist and a piece of paper saying he can’t see her anymore? You really think that’ll do anything? Because it won’t. It’ll just drive her away from the one person who is trying to help her.”

“It’ll do  _ something _ , Lexa. And that’s more than what you’re doing right now, drinking wine in your underwear and playing hero.”

Lexa sat up quickly, ripping the strand of hair out of Anya’s fingers, her knuckles white around the neck of the bottle.

“I am not just ‘playing hero’,” Lexa said through clenched teeth, “I love her and I am scared for her and I am  _ trying  _ to do what’s right for her!”

“I’m  _ telling  _ you what’s right for her, Lexa!”

“What am I going to tell them? Am I just going to call and say, ‘Hey, this cute girl I just fell in love with acts really scared and sad all the time and I think it’s because her boyfriend beats her, could you check that out for me?’”

“They would have to check that out for you, Lexa. I know you were being sarcastic, but they’re the police. That’s literally  _ their job _ .”

“I just don’t want to ruin her life,” Lexa whispered, laying back down with a flop, shaking the bed. She huffed her breath out frustratedly, puffing up her cheeks.

“Isn’t her life already ruined, Lex?” Anya said quietly. Her tone was a question, but they both knew she was right.

Lexa sighed and stared up at the ceiling fan for several long moments in comfortable silence with her sister.

She wondered what Clarke was doing right now. Was she staring at her ceiling fan, too? Was she singing? Was she crying? Was she asleep? Was she laughing? Was she kissing him? Getting hit by him?

Lexa felt Anya’s cold hand wiggle into her own and squeeze it.

“Hey. She’s going to be okay, okay?”

Lexa nodded, exhaling loudly through her nose. Then she raised up, sinking into the bed as she attempted to sit upright. She flailed her arms a little bit, then thrust the half empty bottle of wine at Anya.

“I can’t believe this is all you brought me,” said Lexa, cutting eyes at her sister.

“Be thankful that I brought you anything, brat.” Anya yanked it out of her hand with a playful smirk.

“Why do you even have that? It tastes like flat strawberry Fanta that’s been sitting open in the cupholder of your car for two days, but you drink it anyway because you hate yourself and you’re really thirsty.” Lexa slid off the bed, the muscles in her long, tan legs flexing under the smooth skin, her auburn hair swinging halfway down her back.

“That was oddly specific,” said Anya, chuckling and rolling her eyes.

“It happened to me yesterday,” Lexa laughed, her big eyes crinkling at the corners.

“So you hate yourself?” Anya asked jokingly, then took a big swig.

“Totally.”

“Me too,” Anya replied.

“You hate me or you hate you?”

“Both,” snorted Anya, dodging a pillow that Lexa launched at her. “Hey!”

“You’re a bitch,” Lexa shot back, giggling, “I hate you so much.”

“Fine, I’ll just leave then,” Anya stuck her tongue out at Lexa and started for the door, but Lexa jumped in her path, spreading her arms out across the door like a basketball player trying to block an opponent.

“No! Stay, please, I wuv you” Lexa stuck her lip out in an exaggerated pout, causing Anya to roll her eyes and sigh dramatically.

“I guess I’ll stay, but only because I pity you,” she sighed, winking at Lexa and then flopping back onto the bed. Lexa ran and launched herself onto the bed beside her, sending Anya flying into the air and shaking the bed loudly.

“Jesus!” Anya exclaimed, catching herself where she landed on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, quiet down in there you’re shaking the whole apartment!” Indra’s stern voice floated in from the living room and the two girls dissolved into giggles.

“I don’t know what Clarke sees in you, you hooligan.” Anya turned her head toward Lexa and scrunched her face up.

“She doesn’t see anything in me, anymore,” came Lexa’s wistful reply, her voice suddenly sad.

Anya’s heart dropped. She had known Lexa for quite some time, and she knew that for Lexa, love wasn’t something she treated carelessly. If she said she loved someone she meant it, and she would never stop meaning it, not anytime in this lifetime. It was hard for Lexa to let people into her life. The only people she really had were herself and Indra, and sometimes O and Raven, but even they weren’t allowed anywhere near Lexa’s guarded heart. For her sister to have reached out to this girl so genuinely and in such a short time - she knew how heavy that was, she understood the intensity of it. The sad part was that Clarke didn’t, and Lexa, although she wouldn’t admit it, was heartbroken.

“Hey,” Anya’s voice was gentle, “You know that’s not true, hon.”

Lexa pressed her lips into a thin line and looked quickly away.

“It is true. She’s done with me. She said so.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be done with her,” reminded Anya.

“I’m never going to be. Never.” Lexa’s reply was sharp.

Anya fell quiet for a while, looking dolefully at her little sister, whose face was flushed, eyes glistening with tears shed for another woman.

“What is it about her?” Anya inquired gently. “Everything you say elevates her.”

“Clarke elevates herself. She’s special.” Lexa spoke matter-of-factly.

“She sure is,” mumbled Anya, mostly to herself.

With a sigh, she slid off the bed and padded over toward the light switch.

“I think we oughta get to bed, what do you think?”

“You tired?”

“Very.”

Lexa sighed heavily. “Me too. And my head is starting to get all fuzzed up.”

Anya smiled and shook her head, reaching over to press the power button on the TV before flipping the lights off.

“You know, you really oughta find your remote,” she remarked as she shuffled back to bed.

“It’s gone. The Babadook ate it,” countered Lexa assuredly.

“Oh my God, not the Babadook again,” Anya rolled her eyes and laughed as she pulled back the covers and slid into bed.

“I’m tellin ya, that’s what happened.” Lexa raised her brows and nodded, her lips curled into a lopsided smile.

“Mmhmm, I believe you.”

“Cuddle me?” Lexa pouted, wiggling her way up to the pillow beside her big sister.

“I hate you,” Anya deadpanned as Lexa wrapped her thin arms around her middle.

“You love me, and you know it, Sis,” mumbled Lexa as she snuggled into the pillow and settled in, a  _ Friends  _ rerun playing on the tiny 19” television at the end of the bed.

“Oh, I guess you are a pretty cool kid, I’ll admit.”

Lexa smiled, feeling a noticeable weight lift off of her chest, at least for the night. For a moment she didn’t have to worry about love or loss or Clarke or Finn or anything other than her big sister and the fuzziness in her head and the dull buzz of the TV. 


	14. The Night Before

Clarke laid in bed, looking dolefully out the window at the still parking lot. It was raining. It had been raining all day. Droplets of water chased each other down the window pane and merged together on the sill, forming tiny puddles. Blinking slowly, Clarke traced their paths with her eyes as she had been doing for hours. The gull, grey-blue light filtering in from outside made her feel heavy, like the atmosphere itself was holding her down, pinned to the bed.

She had lain here for days. Finn was worried, she could tell. He thought it had something to do with what he had done to her. And it did, but it didn’t. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t what he had done to her that made her feel so hollow, it was the realization that she had let herself get here. That this was her future. She felt nothing but a terrible, static pain, all hours of the day, bordering almost on numbness. A terrible friend, to slander the name of a person who was only trying to help her. To burn that bridge and lose the one source of hope in her life. An awful girlfriend, to actively cheat on the man who gave her everything and yet still have the audacity to blame him in some far corner of her mind. A horrible daughter, too absorbed in her own self-pity that she couldn’t be bothered to go see her grieving mother.

Tomorrow was the anniversary of her father’s death. Her parents’ wedding anniversary. December 12th.

She heard someone enter the room, but did not turn her head. A tiny droplet had pulled ahead in the race and had almost reached the window sill.

“Clarke?” ventured Finn, stepping quietly into the room. He took in the sight of her, covers pulled up to her nose, blonde hair a dull, tangled mess, food wrappers littering the floor beside the bed. He’d had to pick them all out of the sheets last night when he tried to get into the bed with her.

She didn’t answer. Her voice had curled up inside her throat and hidden away.

“Clarke, sweetheart, do you want to come down for dinner? I made your favorite.” He stood just inside the doorway, wringing his hands. When she didn’t answer, he tried again.

“It’s chicken alfredo, with the zesty chicken that you like. I made a ton, you can have as much as you want.” He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed with a creak. “Please get out of bed, princess.”

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, her voice low and gravelly from disuse.

“Clarke all you’ve had is junk food for the last three days…”

“Then just bring me a plate up here,” she replied, still facing the window.

“I really think you’d feel better if you got up. I’ve already made your plate and everything, it’s all set up for you.” His voice was gentle and almost pleading. It terrified him to think that he had made her this way, but what terrified him more was the sense of power he got from it, and he strove to bury that feeling.

He sighed and stood up, rummaging through the dresser beside the bed for a shirt for her. He pulled out her old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and held it up to her. She reluctantly sat up, slowly, and with difficulty. Gently, like a parent to a child, he pulled the shirt over her head and helped her to dress. He produced a pair of sweatpants and, pulling back the covers, tugged them onto her outflung legs. Reaching out his arms, she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to lift her out of bed and carry her bridal style down the stairs.

Clarke picked at her food, staring absently at a spot on the table for most of dinner.

This was her life. This was all there would ever be.


	15. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W for abuse and violence
> 
> This chapter begins before what you read in the opening chapter, just to fill in some details. Enjoy. It's finally now.

“My dad’s dead.” Clarke mumbled, picking at her ragged fingernails as she stared out the window at the darkened parking lot from her spot in bed.

Finn gently patted her hair, searching for something to say. He had never been very good at comforting people.

“Are you going to go see your mom?” He ventured, tucking her matted hair behind her ear. She shook her head beneath his touch, and it made a rustling noise against the pillowcase.

“I can’t.” Her voice was gravelly.

“She needs you, Clarke, she’s all alone-”

“I said I can’t, Finn.”

“Clarke-”

“ _ What.”  _ She snapped, shrugging his hand off of her.

“Your dad wouldn’t want it to be like this...he’d hate to see you like this over him. It’s been  _ days,  _ Clarke. You gotta snap out of this.”

Clarke blew a huff of air sharply out of her nose and rolled her eyes, burrowing further down into the covers. The thick blanket trapped the air near her face and she could smell herself.

“At least shower?” He pulled the blanket away from her face. “I’ll put new sheets on the bed while you shower and it’ll be nice and comfy. How about that? Can you do that for me?”

Clarke nodded, blinking hard, and slowly emerged from her blanket cocoon.

“There ya go, princess.” Finn grinned widely at her and she managed a tiny smile, just barely tilting up the corners of her mouth. She grabbed a t-shirt and pair of panties off the top of the dresser, where clothes were spilling out of its many drawers. Slowly she shuffled across the room to the bathroom, pausing once to hold her hand to her forehead and lean against the door frame.

Finn laid down on the bed and ran his hands tiredly over his face, sighing heavily. He was worried about Clarke, he really was, but it was exhausting having to care for her like this. It was like taking care of a child. It took a few moments, but he could hear the cabinet doors slamming from the bathroom, and then the steady stream of the shower being turned on. He knew within minutes steam would be leaking under the door. Clarke always took showers so hot that it turned her skin red.

Huffing loudly, he sat up quickly and began stripping the sheets off the bed. They smelled terrible, and he could see streaks of what he assumed was snot on Clarke’s black pillowcase. He grabbed the big purple comforter, flung it onto the floor, and heard a loud thump as Clarke’s phone, lost inside the folds, was thrown out. He balled up the blanket and tossed it across the room, bending down to retrieve Clarke’s phone. It lit up on it’s own, buzzing twice.

**Lexa**

**Hey, I know you said we were done. But I know today might be hard for you and I’m worried about you. I’m here if you need me.**

His face instantly turned red. His heartbeat skyrocketed and his stomach plummeted.  _ Who was Lexa? How did she know Clarke well enough to know about today? Why had he never heard of her? _

A muscle in Finn’s jaw twitched involuntarily as he clenched his teeth and entered the passcode to Clarke’s phone - it had been the same since he had met her: 1212.

Quickly, he opened her messages and found what he was looking for, Lexa’s messages were at the top with a little blue dot beside them. It didn’t take much scrolling for him to realize. Clarke had been lying to him for weeks. She had never been going to her mom’s she had been going to visit this girl. The girl from Cache. The girl he had seen at the nightclub. It explained everything. Everything.

Finn heard the signature clunk of the shower shutting off and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, making colors bloom behind his lids.

Clarke toweled off her hair, slipped on a pair of panties and Finn’s old Harley-Davidson t-shirt. She wiped the foggy mirror with her towel, then leaned in to splash some cool water on her red face.

A sudden pounding on the bathroom door startled her so badly that she whacked her elbow on the door frame, sending shooting pain up through her arm. Irritated, she whipped open the bathroom door, scowling.

“What on earth-!” She began, but was interrupted by Finn thrusting her phone in her face.

“You’re the one who has some explaining to do, princess.” His voice was low and threatening, like a coiled snake. It took a minute for Clarke’s eyes to focus on what she was seeing, as the phone screen was bright and held only inches from her face. She leaned away from it and then she realized. Her heart dropped into her feet. She felt all the breath go out of her, as if the world had stopped and all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

“Finn, I-”

He grabbed her roughly by the arm and practically flung her out into the hallway with a yelp of surprise. She retreated quickly into the bedroom, tripping over the pile  of blankets. He pursued her, taking advantage of her stumble to grab her again by the arm and shove her across the room.

“Her?  _ Her?!”  _ His voice bordered on hysterical, veins popping out of his forehead. “This is who you’ve been sneaking around with, this whole time?” He brandished the phone accusingly.

Clarke flinched and blinked rapidly, trying to process the situation, trying to make a plan, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around anything except the fact that it was over. She was caught.

“I will  _ not  _ be disrespected in my own home by some little skank who likes faggots, do you understand me?” He advanced toward her, his jaw set and his teeth bared like a rabid dog.

“Finn, it wasn’t like that, I promise, I-” Clarke’s voice was soft and pleading as she shrunk away from Finn.

“Why are you lying to me, Clarke? Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid? I mean, obviously you do if you thought you could get away with this. So now it’s all out in the open,  _ princess.  _ Tell me what you really think.” He was taunting her. Rage was flowing in his bloodstream, lifting him up and up and up until he was practically soaring on its wings.

“Finn, please just listen to me, okay? Hear me out.”

Finn’s face crumpled and his demeanor shifted. Hurt mingled with rage inside his heart, chasing each other around and around and around until soon it was a tornado, swirling, threatening to tear him apart and take Clarke with him.

“Clarke, I love you! I love you, and nobody else, nobody in this world, is going to love you like I do! Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you just open your fucking eyes?” He ran a hand angrily through his long, dark hair, then suddenly turned and slammed his open palm against the wall with a loud thwack, making Clarke jump.

“I know that you love me, Finn. I know that.” Clarke said, her voice remaining calm and composed. 

“Oh, you know.” He laughs harshly and rolls his eyes. “You know, huh?”

“Yes I-”

“But you don’t love me, do you, Clarke?” He turned, and his eyes were wild. Like there was a wire that short circuited just behind his eyes. Flickering.

“I do love you.” She said quietly.

“Then why the fuck do you do this to me?!” He grabbed Clarke by the shoulders and shook her roughly, making her teeth clack together, then leaned down into her face. She rocked back instinctively, and he shook her again, harder. “Don’t move away from me! I asked you a question!” 

“Finn, could you please -” She struggled to sound as unphased as she did. It terrified her when he got this way, as if something important inside of him had come loose, something that was crucial to his genetic makeup, his DNA, his heart, the part of him that made him Finn. 

“I asked you a question, dammit!” He raised his voice to a yell and shoved Clarke away from him, where her spine crashed roughly into the wall behind her. He advanced on her, and she leapt swiftly to the side, away. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her back, then with his other hand grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks together with his tight grip.

She was breathing hard, her blood pumping and her heart racing. She was scared now. She wanted to leave, to run, to get away from this him that wasn’t him at all. 

“I love you, Clarke. I support you, I shelter you, I provide for you, I treat you  _ right _ , and I  _ love _ you. So why-” His voice was low, and held a dark undercurrent. “-do you do this to me?” 

“Please," she whispered, but his eyes flashed and he gripped her tighter. They stared at each other, both of them wide eyed, her in fear and he in anger. "Let go of me and I will answer you.” Her stomach flipped. She was acting brave, but she was scared. So scared. 

“You don’t tell me what to do, is that clear? You don't get to make a bargain now. Liars don't get to do that. Cheaters don't get to do that. Whores don't get to do that. Is that clear enough for you to understand, princess?” He growled, shaking her again. Her head snapped back and forth sharply.

"I didn't cheat, I didn't lie, and I didn't fuck her, I didn't fuck ANYONE, you're just inventing every excuse you can find to control me, to keep me here with you, under your fucking thumb. You think you own me, Finn? You think this makes you a man?" She spit, all of her fear manifesting as anger and indignation, when truly she felt so low, so down and so hopeless, that she felt like she could let go completely. She could let herself fall, and it wouldn't matter because she was already at the bottom anyway. She deserved this. She deserved this for thinking even for a second that things could be better, that she deserved a life where things were better. 

He raised his hand to strike her and she yanked her chin and her arm out of his grasp and bolted quickly out the bedroom door, her breathing so loud she could barely hear anything else as she ran frantically down the stairs, slipping and fumbling more than once in her panic. On the second to last step, she felt a grip on her forearm, and she turned and shoved him away with her palm to his face. She stumbled off the last step and was racing for the front door, barefoot, in a pair of panties and a t-shirt of his, when she felt something whistle past her head, followed swiftly by a string of curses hurled at her by the man she loved, the one who terrified her to death sometimes. 

Instinctively, she ducked and jumped to the side, only split seconds before her mother’s antique vase crashed against the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. Clarke froze, choking on her breath, and slid defensively to the floor with her hands over her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She repeated it over and over again, feeling herself deflate, feeling her heart sink, feeling her very core, her very soul, drain of energy, of fight. She gave up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn’t look up.

"You should be," was all she got back as Finn spit at her feet. She heard keys jangling, and heavy footsteps. She heard a heavy sigh, then saw Finn’s legs as he passed beside her and out the front door, slamming it behind him, leaving her alone.

Alone on the floor, alone to clean up the mess. 

_ How did she end up here? _

Clarke nudged the shards of broken glass with her big toe. She flicked her ankle and sent a large piece skittering across the room. Aside from the steady squeaking of the rotating ceiling fan overhead, it was the only sound. 

_ Sa-squeak, sa-squeak, sa-squeak.  _

Everything was still, the noise from the fan like a metronome, a second hand on a clock, counting the seconds, reminding her that every moment she was alive, and she was here, on this floor, feeling this empty, and being this scared. 

She held her hands out in front of her face, expecting them to tremble or shake, but they didn’t. She inhaled deeply, and it was strong, not feeble or shaky. Her heart felt like it was collapsing, but she had always been tough. She had always been brave. 

Clarke stood, sliding her back up the wall just as she had done when Finn threw the vase at her, and she had dodged it, sliding down to the floor. 

Clarke tucked her hair behind her ears, allowing herself a few silent tears as she stepped gingerly over the broken glass and retrieved the dust pan from the kitchen. She swept up the mess, then found she did not have the energy to walk back to the kitchen and throw it away. She did not feel like doing anything. She sank to the floor again, fingering a piece of what was once a precious family heirloom, one that had been passed down for generations, and finally cried, the tears hot as they streamed down her cheeks one after the other. She hiccupped, holding her stomach and doubling over as a sob racked her body.

She felt trapped, like this whole apartment had betrayed her, like everything was something else entirely, something foreign and malicious. She felt a familiar weight pressing on her chest, like she couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe anymore.

There was a faint purple ring around her wrist, and her head ached.

She wiped her cheeks roughly and reached up, feeling around blindly on the end table for the home phone, not getting up. 

Her fingers grasped it, and she dialed those all too welcoming numbers, the clicking of the buttons joining the squeaking of the fan as the only noises in the rotten apartment. 

It rang twice, and then the relief came.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” Her voice was concerned, and it made fresh tears well up in Clarke’s blue eyes. That voice was like honey, like smooth salve on a wound, easing her pain.

She sniffled and coughed, then replied, her voice gravelly from crying, “Lexa? Can you come get me?"

“Clarke, what’s going on? Where are you?” Back at her apartment, Lexa sprung off the bed in panic and ran for her keys, her stomach churning.

“I’m at home, I’m just…” Clarke’s voice cracked and she took a long, shaky breath, snot rattling in her nose. “I’m at the Townhouse Apartments off Dave Ward, apartment number 102. I just, I need somebody to come get me, I’m sorry, Lexa, I know - “

“Hey, shh. I’m on my way, okay? I’m on my way, just stay there okay? I know where that’s at, I’ll be there in ten minutes tops. I’m on my way, Clarke.”

Lexa grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and bolted out the door, not even bothering to put shoes on. She bounded down the steps two at a time, her heart in her throat. Something was wrong, really wrong. She could feel it.

“Okay. Okay. Thank you, Lexa, I just...I’m sorry, I just..” Clarke choked back a sob, laying on her side on the floor, the tears tickling her nose as they dripped across the bridge of it and onto the floor.

“Shh, don’t be sorry. I’m coming, Clarke. I’ll see you soon, I’m coming to get you.”

Clarke hung up the phone and pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. She had never felt this low. She had never felt this empty, so empty that it physically hurt her, like somebody had her in their fists and was squeezing her, squeezing her so tight that every last drop of fight was draining out of her one at a time.

She lay there curled up, focusing all of her energy on simply breathing. In, and out. In, and out.

Finn sat in his truck, flicking cigarette ashes out the open window. He gripped and un-gripped the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching his fists, leaving little grooves in the leather.

Lexa pulled up into the parking lot like her wheels were on fire, screeching into the nearest spot. She had barely even pulled the keys out of the ignition before she was out of her car, the damp pavement cool on her bare feet as she sprinted up the sidewalk and across the sparse lawn in front of Clarke’s apartment.

She knocked quickly and lightly on the door, which was answered by Clarke’s raspy voice.

“Come in,” she called feebly.

Lexa pushed open the door and shut it softly behind her, her heart already breaking as she crept across the floor to kneel at Clarke’s side. Pushing the dustpan full of broken glass out of the way, Lexa pulled Clarke’s head into her lap and began tenderly smoothing her still damp hair.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, Clarke,” she whispered, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. Anger rose up inside her, hot and intense, at Finn, at how far he had let her fall.

“You were right, Lexa. You were right,” breathed Clarke against Lexa’s bare thigh. The ends of Lexa’s long hair tickled Clarke’s cheek as she leaned over her. Lexa felt the first tear drip onto her skin, and pulled Clarke closer to her.

“It’s not about that, Clarke. Are you okay? Are you alright? Let me look at you,” Lexa gently grabbed Clarke by the shoulders and pushed her into a sitting position. She held in a gasp as she saw the darkening bruise on Clarke’s wrist. Lexa ghosted her fingers over it, then stroked Clarke’s puffy face.

“Your eyes are so blue when you cry,” she mumbled, placing a chaste kiss on Clarke’s nose.

At that, Clarke cracked what could almost be called a smile.

“What happened?” Lexa ventured carefully, watching for Clarke’s reaction. Clarke’s face crumpled slightly and she shook her head, staring at the ground.

“I can’t talk about it. He just knows, Lexa.”

“Knows? Knows what?” Lexa ducked her head to meet Clarke’s downturned gaze.

“About you. About us.”

The realization dropped into Lexa’s stomach like a brick.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A weighty silence hung in the air between them, full of what-nows and unspoken apologies.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can stay with me. You can even meet my mom, and my sister’s in town, too. You don’t have to if you don’t want to but...they really care about you, too. You can stay with us as long as you like, okay?” Lexa stood, an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, gently coaxing her into a standing position as well.

Clarke nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the front door slamming open so hard it knocked a hole in the drywall. Lexa jumped, her entire body tensing up immediately, and Clarke yelped in surprise.

Finn stood in the doorway, looking like Lucifer after he’d fallen from grace.

“Oh my god,” Clarke whispered, pushing Lexa behind her immediately with an outstretched arm.

Finn didn’t say a word. He strode toward the pair of them, boots heavy on the linoleum, each thud echoing in Clarke’s ears like a gunshot. He smelled of cigarette smoke as he leaned down into Clarke’s face, his lip curled and his eyes narrowed.

“I want her out of this house. Right. Now.” His voice was gravelly.

“If she leaves, I’m going with her.” Clarke’s voice was uncommonly steady.

“Like hell you are,” he spit, grabbing Clarke’s face in his strong fingers. “You’re not going any-damn-where.”

“Lexa,” Clarke breathed, “go home. Get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Lexa shook her head, her eyes wide.

“Go, Lexa. I’m serious, leave!” Clarke snapped, attempting to turn her head to look at her, but Finn yanked her gaze forward again.

“And to think, to think you said you were sorry ten minutes ago. To think I almost,  _ almost  _ believed you.” He shoved Clarke away from him, out from in front of Lexa. “You just couldn’t wait, huh? Not even ten fucking minutes and you went running to her.”

Lexa set her jaw and looked defiantly up at Finn, her nostrils flared and her gaze icy.

He shoved her in the chest with the palm of his hand experimentally. Lexa stepped back slightly, but held her ground. He pushed her again, harder this time, sending her stumbling back against the couch.

Clarke grabbed him by the arm, tugging him frantically away from where he loomed over a fiery Lexa.

“Finn, stop it, this is between me and you, it doesn’t involve her.” Clarke’s voice was pleading. 

“It doesn’t involve her? It doesn’t  _ involve  _ her?” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I’d say it involves her pretty  _ fucking  _ complexly.” He flung Clarke off of his arm, sending her scooting back across the floor on her sore ass, just as Lexa swung her fist and hit him square in the nose, making him cry out in pain.

He paused for a split second, dipping his index finger into the trickle of blood beginning to leak from his nose, then roared, lunging for Lexa.

“You little bitch!” He snatched Lexa by her long, swinging ponytail and jerked her backward as she bolted for Clarke, slamming her head onto the ground with a disturbing thunk.

Clarke screamed but Lexa only grunted as she rolled onto her side, trying in vain to get to her feet. Finn placed a well-aimed boot into her side, right in the space between her ribs, flipping her again onto her back as she dropped down onto her, pinning her arms with his knees as he wrapped his hands around her neck.

“You fucking bitch, don’t you  _ ever  _ lay your hands on me again! Ever!” He bellowed as he throttled her, slamming her head into the ground for emphasis. Clarke looked on in horror, momentarily frozen in place as she watched Lexa’s face turning red, her breathing quick and shallow through her nostrils.

Lexa gathered all that she could and spit in Finn’s face with as much force as she could muster.

Clarke saw the muscles in his back ripple and flew into action, running for the end table in the corner. Frantically she flung open the drawer and rummaged around until she held the cool, heavy piece of metal in her hands.

_ Shick. _

Finn froze, his blood going cold in his veins at the sound. Lexa’s eyes widened and her breathing hitched in her throat. It was as if in that moment, everything ceased.

Clarke held the gun at arms length in front of her, pointed directly at the back of Finn’s head. Her heart was beating so fast it was like a hummingbird’s wings, and her palms were sweaty around the grip.

“I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it.” Clarke’s voice trembled in fear as she pointed a 9mm at the man she loved, who was straddling the woman who loved her. “You have five seconds to get off of her.”

“Clarke, sweetheart -” He stammered, releasing his grip on Lexa’s throat and raising his hands slowly in the air. Lexa was afraid to move; she lay very still, breathing hard with terror and rage.

“One…” Clarke shouted, stepping toward Finn. “Two…”

“Okay! Okay!” Finn squealed, creeping slowly into a crouch from where he sat upon Lexa’s thin legs. “I’m getting up, I’m getting up.”

“Faster.” Clarke growled with feigned bravado, her eyes glistening with fresh tears as she stepped still closer to Finn.

Before she could even process what was happening, Finn had launched himself swiftly backward with a yell, knocking her to the ground with his weight. Her teeth slammed together, biting down on her tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and the gun was jarred from her hands, skittering across the floor.

Lexa lept into action, diving across the floor, but Finn was closer, and his arms were longer. He snatched the Berretta only seconds before Lexa would have, swinging it around to Clarke’s head, who was scrambling to her feet in fright and panic.

“Clarke!” The scream ripped from Lexa’s throat as Finn advanced on Clarke, pinning her to the wall with the gun resting in the middle of her forehead. Clarke closed her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath, feeling the cool metal biting into her skin.

“I oughta fucking kill you,” Finn spit, pressing the gun into her forehead as Lexa cried loudly behind him. She crawled across the floor and grabbed her cell phone, scooting silently into the kitchen. Clarke opened her eyes, an eerie calm blanketing her, stilling her heart. Lexa met her gaze over Finn’s shoulder, holding up the phone as she crept behind the kitchen counter on her knees, her fingers trembling as they dialed 911.

“Do it.” Clarke’s reply was calm and measured. She looked Finn dead in the eyes, challenging him. She didn’t feel anything. She had reached her capacity, she was full, she couldn’t take anymore. Now she was numb.

“Don’t test me, Clarke, I’ll do it! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“I know you will,” said Clarke coolly. “Do it.”

_ 911, what is your emergency? _

“My name is Lexa Pramheda, I’m at Apartment 102 of the Townhouse Apartments on Dave Ward Street, my friend’s boyfriend has her pinned to the wall with a gun to her head and he’s going to kill her,” Lexa whispered panickedly, resting her forehead against the cabinet, trying to calm her breathing.

_ Okay, ma’am I need you to calm down. Is anybody hurt? _

“Yes,” Lexa choked out, “I am, he choked me, and so is she, he’s been slamming her head on the ground and against the wall.”

_ You said you are at apartment 102 on Dave Ward, correct? _

“Yes maam,” Lexa breathed, gnawing on her bottom lip.

“Do it, Finn. Shoot me.” Clarke demanded.

With a deep breath in, Finn closed his eyes, released a raw, wild shout, and squeezed the trigger.

He shifted the gun to the wall just beside Clarke’s ear and unloaded the clip.

_ Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! _

“No!” Lexa screamed, leaping out from behind the counter on her hands and knees, “Oh my  _ God! _ ” She screeched, a sob ripping from her throat.

_ Ma’am! Ma’am, are you there? Ma’am, were those gunshots? Ma’am! _

The operator’s voice was tinny as it filtered through the speaker of the phone on the floor.

Clarke did not flinch. She did not even blink. She stared at Finn in the eyes as he shot, ten times, beside her head.

Lexa’s heart nearly wrenched out of her body as she saw that Clarke was safe. She lunged for Finn, hitting him in the back of the knees and sending him tumbling to the ground just as Clarke heard the first distant siren.

“You son of bitch!” Lexa screeched, slamming her first into Finn’s face, “You son of a bitch, don’t ever touch her! Don’t you ever touch her!”

The sirens got louder as they got closer and Clarke, her ears ringing loudly, blinked her eyes hard and snapped out of her reverie, grabbing Lexa by the shoulders and dragging her off of Finn with difficulty.

“Lexa, stop! Lexa! Lexa, come on we have to go!” Clarke grunted, heaving Lexa off of Finn and dragging her towards the door with her arms hooked under her armpits.

Clarke flung open the door and pushed Lexa outside, running down the walkway after her just as the first police car sped into the parking lot. Cars flooded the lot, along with an ambulance, the blue and red lights casting ethereal shadows over Lexa’s angular face as three officers proceeded into the house, guns drawn, and two officers swiftly approached the pair of them, standing shaken in each other’s arms on the front lawn, both of them barefooted, Lexa in her pajamas and Clarke half naked.

“Are you ladies alright? Can you tell me your names?” asked a short, slender female officer with sharp cheekbones and pale blonde hair.

Lexa spoke first, “My name is Lexa Pramheda, this is Clarke Griffin.”

“He’s not going to jail, is he? Is he going to jail?” Clarke butted in, her eyes wild suddenly as she looked around in bewilderment. The adrenaline was wearing off and the shock of what had just happened, what was going to happen, was twisting up her insides, paralyzing her with fear and shame and guilt.

“Yes ma’am, he’s under arrest. Are you two alright? Are you injured?”

A paramedic appeared behind the female officer, Officer Paylor, and stepped forward to examine Clarke. Clarke shook off his touch angrily and turned toward the house, where Finn was being shoved through the front door, his hands cuffed behind his back. She gasped sharply, doubling over. Suddenly, she bolted, taking off across the lawn.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, get back here!” yelled Officer Paylor, starting toward Clarke, but Lexa ran ahead of her.

“No,” Clarke mumbled, her hands shaking. “No, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t. I didn’t, I didn’t want him to, I didn’t…” She ran toward Finn, her eyes wild, clutching her stomach with one hand and reaching toward him with another.

“Finn! Finn! No, no don’t arrest him, I didn’t mean for this, n-no! No, Finn!” Her voice was hysterical, screeching, splitting the night air. She sprinted for him, but Lexa caught her around the waist, dragging her back. Clarke kicked and screamed as they shoved Finn toward the police car. He was utterly silent. He kept his head down. He didn't even look her way.

“Finn!’ She screamed, thrashing wildly against Lexa’s grip. “Don’t arrest him! Please, please I need him!  _ I need him! _ ” She sobbed, berserk and wild against Lexa’s firm grip, dragging her across the lawn.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, you need to calm down-”

“Finn!” She raved, sobbing violently and clawing at Lexa's fingers. “Don’t arrest him, I can ask you not to arrest him, right? It’s a domestic violence call, I can ask you not to arrest him, don’t arrest him, please, I didn’t mean for this to happen, it’s my fault, please-”

“Unfortunately Miss Griffin this is a felony offense, your boyfriend’s in some pretty serious trouble. I’m afraid that under these circumstances your requests are invalid.”

“N-no, no, no, no I told him to, I told him to shoot me, I taunted him, it’s my fault, okay? I did it, I-I-I…” Clarke’s legs collapsed underneath her and she fell back against Lexa, who struggled to hold her weight.

Two EMTs stepped forward and grabbed Clarke by the arms, helping her toward the back of the ambulance, while an officer gently escorted Lexa toward the squad car. Clarke’s pale hair shone red and blue in the light as she they guided her, slumped and sobbing, like a drowned angel, toward the van.

“Miss Pramheda, was it?” A male officer asked gently.

Lexa stared at Clarke limping across the parking lot, holding her stomach. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tore her eyes away a moment too late, answering with a delayed, “Yes sir.”

“Do you feel alright to give a statement here? Are you injured?”

“I am injured, but I feel well enough that I can give a statement.”

“Would you prefer to be examined first?”

“No, that alright. I think it’s just some bruising around my neck, possibly some head stuff. He kept slamming my head on the ground.” She took a steadying breath, fiddling with the hem of her pajama shorts and shifting her weight.

“Alright, well how about you just give me a brief rundown of what happened, then we’ll escort you and your friend to the hospital and we can finish the specifics there. Sound alright?”

Lexa nodded, taking a deep breath as Officer Paylor draped a blanket around her shoulders from behind. Lexa tugged it tighter around her and searched the lot for Clarke before beginning. An EMT was shining a light in Clarke’s eyes.

Clarke looked across the lot, and they met each other’s gaze for just a moment. Then, Lexa sighed and began. 


	16. The Night Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! I promise I didn't forget about this or any of you, I hope and pray that you're all still with me. I recently moved out and started college and it completely upset my routine and the way that I do things so it was definitely an adjustment BUT I finally found the time to just sit and write this wonderfully cathartic piece of work and I apologize sincerely! Much love!

The harsh hospital lights blinded her. Lexa squinted her eyes against the bright white tiles and walls. The longer she looked, the more her head hurt. She followed a short and squat little nurse into an exam room, where she sat perched on the edge of the bed. 

“Where’s Clarke?” Lexa asked, her voice now raspy.

“I’m sorry?” replied the nurse without looking up as she filled out some paperwork on a pink clipboard.

“Clarke. The girl...I was with...when I came here. Where is she?” she managed to choke out. Lexa had abandoned politeness a while ago. She was frustrated with waiting and being separated in the first place. She was concerned for Clarke’s headspace at the moment - she’d had no idea it was this bad. If she had, she would’ve done things differently - not pushed so much, been gentler, more protective, more understanding.

“Oh, her. Don’t worry, hon, she’ll be fine.” The nurse tapped her pen on the counter a few times before writing something else and looking up at Lexa. “That your sister?”

Lexa’s face was stony as she shook her head.

“Just a friend?”

“You could say that,” retorted Lexa, staring off at the diagrams on the far wall.

The nurse, Melissa, quirked an eyebrow at her suspiciously, but left it alone. She crossed the room, gesturing for Lexa to lift her chin up. She complied, and the nurse began gently probing the sides of her neck with two fingers, feeling around the length of the bruises. Lexa winced.

“Hurts?” The nurse stilled her fingers. Lexa nodded, chewing on her lower lip. Melissa clicked her pen and scribbled something on her clipboard, holding it in the crook of her arm. “Pretty notable swelling and bruising on the neck. Let me check your vision, sweetheart, look straight at me.”

“Can you...dim these lights? They’re killing my head.” Lexa held her temples in both hands, closing her eyes. Melissa’s mouth twisted downwards in a gesture of sympathy.

“I wish I could, but I need to get you all checked out, okay? Now I need you to look straight at me for just a second.”

Melissa shined a light in Lexa eyes one at a time and had her look to the left and the right, up and then down. She clicked off her light and slipped it in the pocket of her scrubs, already writing.

“What are you writing?” Lexa croaked out.

“Petechiae in the eyes. That’s just a fancy word that means the tiny blood vessels, capillaries, in your eyes have burst, presumably when you were being, uh…”

“Strangled.”

Melissa cleared her throat. “Yes, now um, can you describe to me what was happening just before your head was injured? Do you remember?”

Lexa nodded, but whispered, “I remember. It hurts to talk.”

Melissa nodded emphatically, and marked something else down.

“I know, honey, we’re almost done. Are you having any symptoms - dizziness, nausea, sensitivity to light, headache, ringing in the ears…?”

“Everything except nausea.”

Melissa nodded again, then placed a hand on Lexa’s shoulder comfortingly, sweeping her long hair behind her. “From what I’ve seen it looks to me like you’ve got a pretty decent concussion and neck injury, I’ll have the doctor in here to see you in just a moment, okay? Can I get you anything? It’s important that you stay awake for a while, hon.”

Lexa shook her head. “Clarke? Can I see Clarke?”

Melissa shook her head. “Not right now, she’s being looked at and isn’t in the best frame of mind for visitors I think.”

Lexa opened her mouth to protest but Melissa was already shutting the door quietly behind her. Once she was gone, Lexa hopped down onto the cold tile floor and flicked off the light, then crawled back onto the bed, laying on her side with her head between her knees.

The clock in the room was ticking. Aside from the noise of nurses and patients bustling around outside her door, it was the only sound.

_ Tick, tick, tick, tick. _

Lexa counted the ticks. On the 273rd tick, she heard the door click open. Footsteps advanced quickly into the room, and the light was flicked on. Lexa kept her eyes shut and her face covered until, suddenly, she felt a woman’s warm embrace enfolding her.

Lexa jumped and sat up quickly, reflexively pushing away whoever was holding onto her. She looked up into the face of a woman she had never seen before, but who somehow looked eerily familiar.

The woman’s long, dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy braid. Her face was tight and streaked from crying, but her mouth and eyes were sharp and firm. They locked gazes for just a moment before a man in a long white coat, as well as an officer she remembered from Clarke's apartment, followed behind her into the room, reaching out for her.

“Ma’am, you really can’t be in h-” began the officer.

The woman raised her hand in the air frustratedly, half-turning toward him with a look of determination.

“I am Dr. Abby Griffin.” She said in a low voice. “This is my hospital. I will be where I want to be and I will see who I want to see, especially if it concerns my daughter or the woman who saved her life. Are we clear?”

A flash of recognition played over the other doctor's face seconds before he nodded emphatically, bowing his head in apology. “My apologies, Dr. Griffin. I didn’t recognize you.”

“It’s alright. Could you leave us in peace for a few moments? I’d like a word with her alone.”

“Of course. My condolences.” He nodded, but Officer Blake butted in.

"Actually, Mrs. Griffin, I need to speak with the victim briefly just to get some details straight about the attack and discuss -"

"She can't even speak, Officer, just look at her neck. Both of these women are tired, and they're injured, and they're worn down. She does not want to discuss it any further, not until she's healed. Please. Give us some time."

Officer Blake opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it and simply nodded, retreating out the door with a "Tomorrow, perhaps."

Lexa’s mouth hung slightly open.

“You’re Clarke’s mom,” she squeaked.

Abby flashed a feeble smile and nodded. “I am Clarke’s mom.”

“I’m so sorry about-”

“Shh-shh-shh. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m here to thank you for… for saving my daughter’s life..” Her voice was tight, and Lexa could see tears glistening in her eyes already. Abby pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her hand and dabbed at her lower lashline.

“Actually, Mrs. Griffin, she saved mine.” Lexa closed her eyes gently and lowered her head.

Abby looked surprised at that, but reached out a hand to cup Lexa’s chin.

“Thank you anyway. I am forever indebted to you, Lexa. I mean that.”

Lexa nodded, looking up at Abby with wide eyes.

“They’re going to want to keep you here overnight, but I think I can convince them to let you stay with Clarke and I so that I can watch over the both of you. Is that alright with you or would you rather stay here?” Abby asked gently, wringing her hands violently. Her face was composed, as was her voice, but her nervous ticks gave her away. She had almost lost the last person she had, the one person she treasured more than anything else. 

Lexa pointed to her bruised neck, then pointed at Abby, signaling her answer. Abby nodded.

“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, looking down at Lexa eyes before slipping out of the room.

On the 325th tick, she returned, holding what looked like a piece of foam in her hands, and accompanied by the familiar faces of her mother and sister.

Lexa smiled widely and lept off the bed, stumbling as she saw stars. She felt familiar arms embracing her, holding her up and holding her close. She inhaled the scent of leather on Anya’s jacket and felt safe for even just a moment, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Anya whispered into her sister’s ear.

Abby smiled wanly and waited with patience for Lexa to be guided back to the bed.

“I’ve already got Clarke, once we get this thing on we can all go home, okay?” Abby chimed in a fake-cheerful voice as she unfolded the piece of foam and placed it gently around Lexa’s neck. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but you’ve got to wear this in order to keep your neck still while it heals. It’s very important that you not injure it further.”

Lexa nodded, which at this point consisted of her awkwardly moving her whole upper body from front to back, and stood carefully as Anya and Indra escorted her outside into the hallway.

Immediately, she spotted a familiar blonde head down the hall, sitting with her head leaning forward, the ends of her hair nearly sweeping the floor.

Lexa’s heart wrenched. Unable to call out or run to her, Lexa continued walking calmly toward Clarke as her heart banged in her chest. The closer she got the louder it banged until she was standing beside Clarke and it abruptly stilled.

“Clarke?” She croaked, reaching out to place a hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke’s face was blank as she lifted her head slowly and looked up into Lexa’s eyes. They locked gazes for several long moments, studying each other, before Clarke suddenly turned toward her mother.

“Can we go now?” She asked matter-of-factly.

Lexa felt her heart stutter. She dropped her gaze to the floor and felt Anya squeeze her hand reassuringly as tears threatened to gather behind her eyes.

Lexa bit her bottom lip and followed Abby into the parking lot, telling herself that everything gets worse before it gets better.


	17. 8 Days After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, I know I've been gone a long time. I'm back now!
> 
> T/W for this chapter, attempted suicide, intense grief.
> 
> Also, the song in this chapter is "Tomorrow Will Be Kinder" by The Secret Sisters. It's what I sing to myself before/after panic attacks.

“When do you think she’ll be...okay again?”

It had been about a week since the incident. Lexa had hoped that within a day or two Clarke would return somewhat to her normal self and depart from the sullen trance she’d been in at the hospital. It seemed, however, that the more time passed, the worse she got. Clarke barely ate. She cut her food into small bites and shoveled it around on her plate, staring at it with her cheek resting on her fist until, eventually, Abby would push back her chair with a heavy sigh and remove the plate, scraping it’s mangled contents into the trash. Clarke barely spoke. Her once full, throaty, authoritative voice had taken on a persistent meekness, a quiet demeanor that was perpetually timid and tired. Clarke slept a lot. Abby tried not to disturb her, but there had been a few days when Clarke had not spoken or gotten out of bed all day long, and it worried her.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” replied Abby, leaning against the doorway of Clarke’s bedroom with her arms crossed. Lexa peered over Abby’s shoulder with an expression of helplessness and pity. She felt, somehow, that the whole thing had been her fault. She knew Clarke blamed her. Hell, she blamed herself, no matter how hard Abby tried to persuade her not to.

Lexa sighed.

“She hasn’t spoken to me since that night. I’m trying to give her space but...but I’m worried. I’m scared, too, you know? I’m hurting for her. I know that sounds stupid but…” Lexa’s voice broke and she bit her lip, choking back her words. Abby reached out for her instinctively, cradling Lexa’s head against her bony shoulder as Lexa blinked back her tears.

“Shhh, honey, it is absolutely not stupid. I know it’s hard for you, too. It’s hard for us all,” Abby’s voice was warm in Lexa’s ear. There was a long pause; the only sounds were of the pair’s breathing, and the thump of Abby’s heart under Lexa’s temple. “Life is strange and terrifying. How little a thing is needed to turn a world upside down. One tiny person can change the course of time in one night.”

Lexa nodded against Abby’s chest, and they moved together out of Clarke’s doorway, unable to bear looking at her any longer.

Once in the living room, Lexa wiped her cheeks with the back of her rough hand, then picked up her beaten leather jacket and looked toward the door.

“You’re leaving?” Abby’s tone suggested that she desperately wanted Lexa to stay.

“I don’t like to be here without her.”

“She’s right upstairs,” Abby rebuffed, wringing her hands. “Stay, Lexa. Please.”

“No, she isn’t. You know it.”

Abby’s shoulders drooped.

There was an awkward pause, but Lexa couldn’t bring herself to move toward the door, to step outside into the fresh air that would free her from the suffocating grief and sadness that permeated this house.

“She wants to drop the charges.” Abby said finally, after desperately searching for something to say.

“She can’t do that.”

“Can’t she?”

“No, she can’t. That’s up to the prosecutor who filed the charges. Finn isn’t being held for a simple misdemeanor assault charge, he’s being charged with a Class C Felony. Aggravated assault against not one, but two people.” Lexa shuddered slightly at the memory.

Abby nodded, biting her bottom lip nervously.

“You wouldn’t have let her do it even if she could, right?” Lexa challenged, drawing her brows together in an expression of indignation.

Abby opened her mouth as if to reply, but chose not to, and simply lifted and dropped her shoulders instead.

“You wouldn’t have. Right?” Lexa stepped to, her voice carrying an edge.

“I want to do what is best for Clarke - “

“What’s best for Clarke? What’s best for Clarke is for Finn to rot his brain out in prison for five years. That’s what’s best for Clarke, Abby.”

“The Victim’s Advocate came earlier this week and told me that there will be a trial. Finn is pleading not guilty. Clarke will have to testify in court.” Abby looked uneasy.

“Well, of course she will. So will I.” Lexa batted a hand dismissively.

“Lexa. Clarke can’t testify.” Abby’s gaze was steely and intense.

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean why? Lexa, just look at her! She barely even speaks to us! She refuses to speak to any of the detectives or the Victim’s Advocate. She even mentioned something to me about recanting her initial statement! She can’t handle it.” Abby’s voice was high and desperate, her hands gesturing wildly as she explained her frustration.

Lexa closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. At length, she let out a long, heavy sigh.

“She’s going to have to. I know Clarke. She can handle it.” Lexa pulled her coat on roughly and finally spun on the heel of her boot, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Abby sank down onto the couch, holding her face in her weathered hands. She willed tears to come but they never did, just a stinging sensation behind her eyes that reminded her of all her pent up rage and sadness and grief. She had no tears left to cry.

Clarke peeked around the wall in the hallway, standing in a pair of black pajama pants and a dirty, snot-stained sweatshirt, watching her mother, her heart somehow breaking further with each passing second. She hadn’t been sleeping. She heard everything. Most of the time she wasn’t sleeping, just simply laying there, lacking the energy to move or to speak or to cry. She laid for hours, immobilized by guilt, thinking herself further into a dark spiral.

_ “I know Clarke. She can handle it.”  _ Lexa’s words rang in her head. 

She wanted to believe them, she wanted to think as highly of herself as Lexa still did, miraculously, but she couldn’t. It just wasn’t true. Clarke was nowh ere near as strong or as defiant as Lexa characterized her to be. She was plain and simple and weak and sad. That was all.

Meekly, she stepped out into the living room.

“Mom?”

Abby sat upright with a jolt, straightening her posture and plastering a smile on her tired face.

“Clarke? How long have you been up?” Her voice was surprised.

Clarke shrugged. “Not long. I got hungry,” she lied, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“You’re hungry?” Abby’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you hungry for? I can make you something.” Abby stood up immediately, shuffling into the kitchen. She opened cabinet after cabinet, but they were nearly all bare.

“Just, anything,” Clarke mumbled avoiding her mother’s gaze.

Abby bit her lip and sighed, realizing there wasn’t enough food in the house to fix a meal for her daughter. She had been so caught up with everything going on, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d bought groceries.

“You know what? How about I go to the store, and on my way home I’ll pick up some takeout from that chinese place you love?” asked Abby with feigned enthusiasm. She felt like a horrible mother for her lack of attention, but she was thrilled to see that Clarke was out of bed and willing to eat for once.

Clarke nodded absently, fiddling with her bottom lip.

“That sounds good, thanks Mom.”

Abby nodded, smiling as she grabbed her purse and stuffed her feet into her boots.

“I’ll call Lexa and see if she’ll come over while I’m gone, okay?”

“No, don’t do that.” Clarke said icily.

“What? Why?” Abby looked up with confusion.

“I’m not a baby, Mom. I’m a grown woman, I don’t need a babysitter, I can be alone for an hour or two. I especially don’t need Lexa.”

Abby’s gaze fell and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, okay,” she replied at last, gripping the handles of her purse tightly. “But can you just promise to answer the phone if one of us calls? It will just make me feel better. I’m...I’m on edge, Clarke, after what happened…”

“Mom.” Clarke cut her off forcefully, holding her hand up. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll answer the phone, okay?” Then, she added, with a softened expression, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Abby smiled softly and leaned in to kiss her daughter’s forehead. 

“I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.” Clarke whispered. “More than you know.”

As Abby shut the door behind her, Clarke called out.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Abby paused on the front stoop, puzzled. “Bye, Clarke,” she returned, then shook her head and descended the steps.

Clarke waited several long moments, then burst into action.

She bolted the front door. Then, she shuffled into the small, warmly lit bathroom and began filling the dingy tub with water as hot as she could stand it.

Plugging it with a stopper, Clarke made her way into the kitchen where she rummaged desperately through the medicine cabinet, knocking pill bottles all over the countertop and floor until she found the ones she sought.

Clarke clutched two bottles in her hand. One, an old prescription of Vicodin from when she’d broken her leg during her sophomore year of college. Nearly entirely full. The other, her mother’s prescription sleeping pills. She’d been a raging insomniac after her father’s death, claiming she simply couldn’t sleep without Jake beside her.

Clarke felt a sharp pang of guilt but pushed it down. She couldn’t afford to think beyond what she was doing right now. This was the only way to make everything right again.

She poured herself a glass of Bacardi which she plucked from atop the refrigerator, and headed back into the bathroom, where the water was now approaching the rim of the tub.

Clarke placed the items on the ledge of the tub, shut off the water, and stripped off her sweatshirt.

She dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor.

Her socks came next. Off her feet and into the pile on the floor.

Then her pants. She kicked them across the room.

Turning, Clarke stared at her reflection in the mirror. A sullen, pale-faced girl looked back into her face, her chest and shoulders thin beneath her dirty white tank top. She raised a hand to her face and the girl in the mirror did, too. She blinked rapidly, and so did the girl. Shaking her head, Clarke turned away and, locking the bathroom door first, stepped into the tub in her underwear.

The strange sensation of being in the water with clothes on amused her somewhat, and she leaned back readily into the nearly scalding water. 

She relaxed for several minutes, counting her breaths, admiring each of her red-painted toes as she wiggled them just above the surface of the water, entranced by the way her golden hair swirled around her.

Clarke dumped the Vicodin pills into her thin, wet hand, and knocked them back quickly, without dwelling on it, with a swig from her glass. She made a face and coughed, then tossed the bottle across the bathroom, hitting the wall with a clatter.

Next, she emptied the contents of the second bottle into her mouth, washing them down just as quickly, comforted by the fact that it would all be over within minutes. She smiled as she rolled the empty bottle across the tile floor, knowing she was almost done.

In the living room, her phone buzzed persistently.

**Lexa calling....**

It buzzed, fell silent for a moment, then buzzed some more.

**Lexa calling…**

Soon, it was silent again.

**Lexa calling…**

Clarke’s vision blurred.

**Text message (5)**

**Lexa**

Clarke leaned her heavy head against the side of the tub.

**Lexa calling…**

“Abby,” Lexa’s voice was frantic. “Clarke isn’t picking up, I’ve called her four times and texted her five.”

“What?” Abby dropped the box of noodles she’d been holding. “She’s not answering the phone? She was awake when I left. She promised to keep her phone near her.”

“I have a bad feeling, Abby, I don’t know. I’m going over there.” Lexa’s heart was pounding frantically. She could taste her stomach acid in her mouth.

“Go, go! I’m coming home, but you’ll get there faster. Call 911.” Abby instructed panickedly, abandoning her cart in the middle of the aisle as she fled the store. Other customers eyed her with varied glances of worry and suspicion as she pushed through carts and displays toward the automatic doors at the front of the building.

Lexa was already in her truck, turning onto Clarke’s road. Her engine roared. Lexa couldn’t hear it, all she could hear was her heart in her ears.

“ _ 911, what is your emergency?” _

“My name is Lexa Pramheda, I need medical assistance at 3540 Copperwood Lane. Now.”

Clarke tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t. She blinked heavily but couldn’t focus on anything. Her head felt glued to the side of the tub.

Lexa jumped out of her truck with the engine still running and bounded up to the door.

Finding it locked, her stomach flipped inside out as she realized she had no key. She pounded loudly on the heavy wooden door, but expected no response. She got none.

“Fuck, please no, please God,” muttered Lexa as she ran through the flower bed and pulled up on the window. Locked.

Screaming internally, she moved to the next one and pulled roughly.

It opened!

Lexa whimpered in pure relief as she pulled herself up on her forearms and shimmied through the window, depositing herself roughly on the floor.

Grunting, she rolled onto her knees and saw light peeking out from under the bathroom door. She spotted Clarke’s phone buzzing with bright light on the table in the living room, and a fresh wave of panic washed over her.

Sprinting across the floor, Lexa reached the locked bathroom door.

She pounded violently, screaming Clarke’s name.

Tears choked her and obscured her vision.

“Clarke! Clarke, please open the door!”

Lexa slammed her palms against the side of her head in frustration, then took a deep breath and stepped back from the door. She took a deep breath, held it, and kicked as hard as she could with her booted foot against the door.

A crack appeared in its middle.

Lexa took another deep breath and kicked, aiming for the spot where the crack appeared.

This time, the wood splintered, caving in on itself somewhat.

She backed up and ran full speed, throwing herself violently against the door, sending it crashing inward amidst a cloud of dust.

Coughing, tears drying on her cheeks, Lexa crawled over to the tub, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest.

Clarke’s head lolled to the side, unable to support itself, and she floated just above the surface of the water, her body limp, a glass shattered on the floor beside the tub.

Lexa reached into the water and dragged Clarke out by the underarms, sending water pouring onto the floor as a strangled cry escaped Lexa’s throat.

“No, oh please God no, Clarke, Clarke please no,” Lexa cried, pressing two fingers to pale skin of her throat. Clarke’s pulse fluttered feebly against her fingers once, then she did not feel it again.

Sobbing, Lexa turned Clarke on her side and shoved two fingers down her throat, hitting her on the back roughly with the heel of her palm.

“Come on, please, oh god please,” whimpered Lexa as she beat on Clarke’s wet back.

Suddenly, Clarke coughed. She spluttered, jerked, and vomited violently onto the floor.

“Oh thank God, yes, yes, yes, thank you, thank you,” Lexa pushed Clarke’s stringy, wet hair out of her face and then placed her gently on her back.

Tears streamed from her eyes as Lexa, now soaked completely through in bathwater and vomit, placed two hands directly over Clarke’s sternum and shoved as hard as she could.

“One, two, three, four, five…” she grunted as she pumped Clarke’s chest. Lexa heard sirens approaching distantly.

_ Come on, Clarke, hang in there,  _ Lexa thought to herself as she pounded out thirty compressions. She tilted Clarke’s chin, pinched her nose, and breathed twice into her open mouth, then resumed her position over Clarke’s chest.

“Please fight, I know you can,” she whispered, hanging her head in despair as she shoved with aching arms. Lexa heard a key turning in the front door and nearly cried again in relief as she heard Abby running toward the bathroom.

The cry that escaped Abby’s lips was so strangled and inhuman that Lexa could never forget it. She heard it in her dreams every night.

Abby dropped to her knees with a choked scream, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Clarke suddenly took in a ragged gasp of air.

Lexa’s heart clawed its way into her throat in relief.

“Move, let me help you. Gasping is a sign she’s recovering,” Abby, having composed herself enough to slip into her authoritative doctor persona, elbowed Lexa aside and began giving even more forceful compressions, pausing once to administer rescue breaths.

Lexa crawled toward Clarke’s head and swept stringy clumps of hair off her face, her body shaking with her attempts to hold back sobbing.

Sirens wailed loudly as they approached the house.

Clarke’s eyelids fluttered.

“Abby!” Lexa gasped. “Her eyes moved.”

“Come on, babygirl, I know you can do this. Wake up, Clarke!” Abby muttered through gritted teeth, straining from the force of the compressions.

Lexa pulled Clarke’s head into her lap and, in a tremulant voice, began to sing softly, her head bent down towards Clarke’s.

“ _ Tomorrow will be kinder, _

_ It’s true, I’ve seen it before, _

_ A brighter day is coming my way, _

_ Yes, tomorrow will be kinder…” _

Clarke’s eyelids shifted again, as if they were just on the precipice of opening. Tears streamed from Lexa’s cheeks and splattered the ground around her, one or two landing coolly on Clarke’s forehead. Abby’s chest constricted at the sound of Lexa singing sweetly through her tears. She’d grown attached to her as well, and the amount of love she showed Clarke amazed and astounded her.

_ “Today, I’ve cried a many tear _

_ And pain is in my heart. _

_ Around me lies a somber scene, _

_ I don’t know where to start…” _

Noise filled the house as paramedics rushed into the building, their heavy footsteps echoing in the still of the previous silence.

Clarke’s eyes opened, her eyes rolling back and forth frantically.

_ “But I feel warmth on my skin, _

_ The stars have all aligned…” _

A loud, wretched sob broke free from Lexa’s chest.

_ “The wind has blown, but now I know _

_ That tomorrow will be kinder…” _

Clarke’s eyes rolled back to look up into Lexa’s face. Abby stopped her compressions and fell onto Clarke’s body with a whimper as two paramedics lifted Lexa by the arms and carried her away from Clarke, whose head thudded onto the wet, murky floor.

Lexa went limp and heaved, crying hard enough that the medic handed her off to a policeman who wrapped her in his arms and restrained her, holding her close.

Through slitted eyes and blurred by tears, Lexa watched as they dragged Abby away, loading Clarke’s dripping wet, limp body onto a gurney. Clarke rolled her head to the side and looked into Lexa’s eyes as they wheeled her urgently out of the house.

Lexa’s legs collapsed beneath her, sending her plummeting to the ground along with the man who held her tightly. 


	18. 8 1/3 Days After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a more cohesive meaning to this chapter, see chapter 7 for a memory refresher. I love you all so much and am surprised you're still around after I left for so long! Thank you all immensely!

For the second time in a week, Lexa was in the hospital. For the second time in her life, it was because the person she loved had wanted to end their life.

She sat stoically in the stiff green waiting room chair for hours. Lexa sat with her back bent, head down, and stared at the scuffs on the tile floor beneath her feet without really seeing them.

The only thing she could focus on was her thoughts. They swirled around her head and slammed against their confines like caged animals, pounding, beating, clawing at her.

She couldn’t do this again. It had crippled her entirely once before. 

Images flooded Lexa’s mind, slamming up against the back of her eyelids as she squeezed her eyes shut tight to block them out. They’d been tormenting her for hours, ever since she crawled through that window at Clarke’s house, and she wasn’t sure she could physically stomach them anymore.

Standing up abruptly, she wandered dazedly around the facility, sticking close to the wall, brushing her hand across it’s cold painted cement as she went. Maybe walking would help her escape the memories that had been dragging her down the entire time she’d sat there.

“Lexa!” A familiar voice called her name, and she turned around in surprise.

Anya was running toward her, hair askew, less edgy than usual in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

Lexa buckled. The sight aroused in her such a strong association, such a horrifyingly clear mental image, she couldn’t handle it. The sight, the smell, the sound, the feel of the cool tile against her legs, it was all the same. She was here again, weeping in front of strangers over someone who was lost to her forever.

_ “Oh my god, Costia…” she choked out as she dragged a chair toward the middle of their bedroom. _

_ Stepping onto it with shaky legs, Lexa reached up and cut the rope. The sudden weight toppled her over and she fell onto the floor, gripping Costia to her chest. _

“Lexa, are you okay? Lexa?” Anya knelt beside her sister and wrapped her arms around her, trying to shield her from the prying eyes of strangers.

“It’s happening again, it’s me, it’s my fault, Anya, it’s me!” Lexa wailed, pressing her forehead into Anya’s collarbone, heaving.

“Lexa, stop it, look at me.” Anya attempted to push Lexa away from her but Lexa kept a tight grip on the collar of Anya’s shirt and remained stubbornly squatted into a ball. “Lexa, look at me!”

_ The room was suffocatingly quiet save for Lexa’s heartbeat and her quivering voice. _

 

_ “Tomorrow will be kinder _

_ It’s true, I’ve seen it before…” _

 

_ She held Costia close to her chest and sang, brushing her dark hair away from her face, folding her limp hands gracefully over her belly. _

“I’m a curse, it’s me,” she choked out, gasping for breath as she resisted her sister’s provocations. “I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do it…”

“It’s not you, baby, it’s not you,” said Anya reassuringly, holding Lexa close to her chest. “Come on, let’s get up. You can get up, come on, let’s go somewhere else.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, Lexa nodded and allowed herself to stand along with Anya, who guided her back to the waiting room and into a secluded corner. She sat and resumed her earlier position, staring at the floor.

“I called Mom.”

“Okay.”

“She’s on her way.”

“Cool.”

“Lexa…” began Anya, reaching toward her.

Lexa shrugged her shoulder away. She didn’t care to be comforted or touched right now. At first she had welcomed Anya’s presence, but it simply reminded her, vividly, that someone she loved was dead, and someone else she loved was almost there.

“Look. I understand if you can’t or don’t want to talk right now, but I’m worried about  you.”

Lexa shrugged, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I know it’s hard…”

Stiffening, Lexa replied in an icy tone, “Oh, you know?”

“I loved Costia and I know that it’s tough to have to relive that - “

“Shut up.”

“ - with Clarke, but you did everything you could to save Costia and -”

“I said,  _ shut up! _ ” Lexa shouted, jumping to her feet. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel, you don’t get to say her name, and you _ definitely _ don’t get to say you loved her, too! I went through hell and back for her for  _ years _ and now I have to sit here and face it with someone else and you have  _ no idea _ how hard that is for me so don’t pretend like you do!”

Anya was stony-faced. After a moment’s pause, she replied coolly,

“This girl has been absolutely nothing but trouble to you since you first met her. I think it’s time you distance yourself from this.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lexa cocked her head to the side, her thick brows drawing together in puzzlement.

“Clarke is no good for you. She’s caused you nothing but heartache and it’s only going to get worse. You need to cut her off.”

 

_ Whack! _

 

Lexa’s palm struck the side of Anya’s tender cheek without warning, echoing through the vast waiting room. Tears sprung immediately to Anya’s eyes from the sting.

Lexa sucked in her bottom lip, released it, and said firmly, “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

She took several quick steps, attempting to look composed as she fled the waiting room, but soon she was running. Her dark auburn hair flew behind her like a cape, snapping and cracking as she dodged people in the hallway, weaving her way through the building with no destination in mind. Every room she passed seemed to be the one Costia had remained in for those moments before she left Lexa behind forever. Costia's death crippled Lexa emotionally. She was one of those rare women whose sheer presence is enough to change you, make you glow with happiness and love and light, and her death, the absence of her, sucked every ounce of light from Lexa.

_ “We’re sorry, Miss. You did everything you could.” _

Lexa ran until, gasping in relief, she saw the front doors to the hospital. She pushed her way through the revolving door and let herself collapse onto the small patch of green grass along the length of the outside wall.

It was dark now, as Lexa lay down in the damp grass, her fingers weaving their way through each soft blade, pulling every other one out by the root. Tears wiggled free from her eyes without permission, soaking her cheeks and pooling in the space between her collarbones. It tickled, and she swiped at them angrily.

_ “Make me a crown of them! I love the white ones, those over there!” squealed Costia, pointing toward a patch of wildflowers that resembled tiny daisies. _

_ Grinning, Lexa trudged her way through the tall grass toward them. Suddenly, she felt a weight on her back and she nearly toppled as Costia tried to scramble up, giggling, “Give me a piggyback ride, Lex!” _

_ “You’re too heavy for a piggyback ride, you little shit!” Lexa bent her knees and rolled, sending the two of them sprawling onto the dewy grass, giggling together.  _

_ “Hey! You’re mean!” _

_ “Ain’t my fault you’re a mean-girl-loving-lesbian! You picked me!” taunted Lexa. _

_ “I hate you!” Costia retorted, giggling and sticking out her tongue. _

_ “I hate you more!” replied Lexa, who leaned over on her forearms to place a gentle kiss on Costia’s full lips. _

Sighing, Lexa rolled onto her side on the grass, twirling a piece around her finger.

“I hate you,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Plucking another blade of grass, she said, “I hate you more.”

_ Bzz-bzzz _

Lexa wiggled her phone out of her tight back pocket.

 

**Anya (6 minutes ago)**

**Mom’s here. Where r u?**

 

Lexa rolled her eyes angrily and hit the X to ignore the message.

_ Bzz-bzzz _

She scrolled down.

 

**Abby**

**Clarke’s awake again!!**

 

A smile yanked it’s way across Lexa’s features. She closed her eyes gently. An image of Clarke laying on an old orange couch, sipping coffee and laughing a little too loud flitted across her mind.

Smiling crookedly, Lexa typed back,

 

**Is she hungry? Ask if she wants secret cookies.**

 

She sat up and brushed stray blades of grass and dirt off of her jacket, then gently combed her hair out with her fingers, taking a deep, calming breath. A man entering the hospital eyed her curiously.

_ Bzz-bzzz _

 

**Abby**

**Don’t know what that means but she smiled and said yes! First time she has smiled!! I think she will see you now**

 

Tears pricked Lexa’s eyes again, but this time with happiness.

 

**Tell her I will be there in 15 minutes with cookies.**

  
Lexa ran to her truck, the cool air stinging her wet cheeks in a way that made her feel very grateful to be alive. 


End file.
